The Death Order
by Eria
Summary: Sequel to The Big League What happens after Kyouya is sent off by the Shinigami? So begins his adventure into Meifu, the land of the dead. SlightAU of Yami no Matsuei universe. Other OHSHC characters take a minor role in later chapters.
1. Forced convenant

_Preface: Here's the first chapter of the dead Kyouya in a slightly AU YnM-verse. It's a sequel to **The Big League** for those of you who just started reading this story. Overall, I like to stick to canon, excepting stuff I made up where there was nothing from canon! (pretty much this entire chapter...) OHSHC references may lurk in later chapters, but other characters will more than likely not be showing any time soon._

_Enjoy._

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In the darkened room with aisles of lights running along the walls, docile spirits waited in line for their special-case judgment. Time in between names called differed from one case to the next, a resolution met without an imposed time limit. 

"Kyouya Ootori." A loud wisp of air echoed down the hall. The aforementioned vacantly stepped past the rows of floating spirits waiting, directly into the black maw of Enma's chamber, doors closing silently behind him.

Light suddenly flooded the room, revealing a 3-d representation of his most comfortable place. His room's 8.5 meter height was lined on one-side with tinted reflective windows and a view of a well-manicured lawn outside. Blinking once, he looked around at the modern furniture and pristine carpeting. Everything was exactly how he remembered it, tidy and ordered, but that couldn't be right. He had destroyed it.

"Come, Kyouya." The door that was supposed to lead to the hallway was open. Following his father's voice, he had to stoop slightly to go under the doorframe, which wasn't understandable since he should have had plenty of head clearance. Stepping into an adjunct dimly lit tearoom, there was a pillow-chair with a padded back behind the low table and a lone, still steaming cup of tea sitting atop it on a wooden coaster. He glanced behind him, when none of the sunlight from his windows were streaming through. The opening he had just exited through no longer existed.

He did the logical thing and sat down, taking the cup of tea in his hand and trying it, while his eyes adjusted to the surroundings. A reed curtain was directly in front of him and behind it; a diffused light revealed a man's shape. The tea was brewed perfectly to his taste. He entertained the notion that he was dreaming as the quality of his environment lent to, but quickly dismissed it. He was dead and apparently in purgatory. Setting the tea down, he then tried to recall what he had done between the Shinigami's sending and now, but fuzzy imagery was all he could recollect. His best guess was that he was currently sitting face to face with Enma, the Shinto-Buddhist god of judgment.

"You are a remarkable soul, Ootori. Very perceptive." A smooth lilting ambiguously male voice sent unconscious twitches into his arms and convulsive shivers down his spine, a headache forming as his jaw tightened. He imagined it was how a mild grand mal seizure felt. The shadows prickled up through the floor to reach him, but could not, and so settled back down. He put his hand on the floor to touch the material and felt shadows lump up underneath it, greeting him enthusiastically though unable to meet his skin. While he wasn't looking, the god lifted a hand and another figure joined his.

More closely observing his surroundings, he realized that there were no shadows, which defied any logical argument of how something could prevent them. Light, no matter how low-level, spawned shadows, yet somehow the material, coating the entire room, rendered it shadow-free.

A different voice spoke, one that didn't cause his muscles to spasm painfully. He knew that the god was no longer talking then. His fingers twitched wanting to write as his attention was brought back to the curtain, behind which two figures knelt. "I have a deal to propose."

Kyouya chuckled. "Why would any fool accept a covenant with the God of Death?"

"Your judgment is to remain in purgatory for a century and a half until the body I've given you has worn out with no privileges of visiting the living realm."

"…" Kyouya sipped his tea. "What is my other option?"

"Work as an employee in the Judgment Bureau for 50 years with all the entitlements granted to my servants. Once the time has passed you may apply for reincarnation."

"But not resign?"

He could hear the smile in the god's answer. "No. You would not have that right."

Knowing he would not be given rest either way, Kyouya sat back. "I will agree to the second option if two conditions are met."

"If those conditions are within my influence of control, I will grant them."

"I require a supply of high-quality ink pens and notebooks." He had been itching to write ever since he regained consciousness in the fake bedroom.

"Granted."

"My former host club members all receive long, healthy lives."

The God of Death paused, leaning back. "This, I can only do if you are willing to stay as my servant longer than 50 years."

"How much longer?"

"A century more."

He definitely would not work that much longer just to ensure his friends long lives, considering he still had no idea what kind of work being in the 'Judgment Bureau' involved, though he suspected it involved plenty of paperwork, filing, and other trivial chores like most bureaucracies. However, based on how Enma had coerced him to in the first place, he figured that he would not spend the rest of his after-life doing the inconsequential, and that piqued his interest. Besides that, the god didn't exactly consent to let him go after he had worked the required 50 years, which most likely meant he would be able to 'retire' but not actually leave his domain. "What would 50 more years grant me?"

"A guarantee of old-agedness and health to two."

It was too much time. He had died barely 17; it would not do to live three times longer than he had alive, just for two of them. Kyouya thought for a long moment, before speaking again. "And if it was just Tamaki Suoh?"

"20 years."

"I agree to your terms." Tamaki was really the only one he would sacrifice slightly more than an equivalent amount of his living time to. He was well aware that the God of Death had lifted those exact thoughts from him.

"A wise choice, Ootori." The reed curtain was lifted and the god stepped forward, an opaque veil leaving his face unseen, while his pure black hair nearly touched the ground as the silken black kimono patterned with silvery koi whispered softly over the floor. Kyouya stood giving a deep bow as the god stepped closer. Several black-clothed servants formed out of the floor, picked up the table and chair, and sunk back into the floor without a trace of presence.

The figure that had remained next to Enma's side, whose face was also veiled though transparently so, came forward. His face was young, and his eyes pure white, the dots of his pupils providing a strong contrast. Pointed ears and a smile that showed tips of canines established that this servant was nonhuman. "I will impress my Mark into you, but before that your ability must be subdued."

Kyouya realized then that Enma had been talking through his servant rather than informing it, since he had momentarily forgotten it wasn't the god speaking personally.

The servant raised his wickedly long-nailed hand, and a tag hovered up, floating just centimeters above his roughened palm. It appeared to be a gray guitar pick. The tag's color darkened, pulsing as time flowed on melting into an extremely small, metallic piece of triangular jewelry. It clicked, then suddenly flew out towards Kyouya, pinching itself onto his right earlobe. His jaw clenched showing his discomfort.

The servant bowed away letting their god step forward.

"Kneel." The smooth voice was back again, wracking him with stronger convulsions due to the god's closer proximity. His legs buckled obediently as he shuddered in defiance.

Cool hands cupped his face, scalding where they touched as they pulled him forward to meet the gaze looking intently down at him. Staring up into unavoidable, unreadable eyes that reached into him, his insides alternatively burned and cooled. The eyes contained no irises or the outerlying whites, as if the depth of omnipotence had drowned them out.

What lay behind the veil was an impressive feat of contradictions. The god's face inspired terror, too perfect and beautiful to exist, its flawlessness belying its inhumanness. The effect was both terrifying and lovely, Kyouya's logic and sensory sectors having fits and unable to come to terms with what they were processing.

"Forget my face, Ootori. Sleep."

Kyouya's face went lax and his eyes lazy. His fragile mortal mind protectively blanketed by those simple commands.

TBC.


	2. A for effort

_Preface: My friend recently told me I have an uncanny ability to keep characters IC in widely non-canon settings, and reading this chapter I can see why. Since YnM canon doesn't talk about any of the lower divisions other than in passing, I've used creative license to fill in the blanks. There is something special about the Processing Section, but I won't spoil it for you.  
_

_**Warning:** Multiple OCs are popping out to say 'hi'. _

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The black-haired teen, a thick folder underhand, flicked his grouchy black-brown eyes once above the line of his glasses at the Parliament building in front of him and then climbed the stairs at a blasé pace to the heavy doors that already stood wide open for his entrance. It was not the Parliament building, but a near copy of it. The comparison ended once a person set foot inside it. 

Kyouya Ootori was in the land of the purgatory dead, Meifu, and the Ministry he worked for now served directly under the god Enma's guidance, or rather a council of around ten individuals served directly and commanded their individual regions conjointly, which were then divided into sections run by chiefs and held together by office workers. Two months had shown him how modernization had tied the god's work in knots. It would have been amusingly ironic if it didn't threaten to send him into a fleeting fits of frustrated despair.

By the two month mark, he could have precisely disseminated the antiquity of the Judgment Bureau's information processing practices and recommended critical measures towards rectifying the disaster known as the Processing Section he was based in, if he knew it would do any good. Without hurry or worry, he stepped into the communal office, past rows of cubicles standing like dominoes ready to collapse, and into the quaint work space he was afforded, pulling his rickety worn chair out and turning the computer on.

Technology and business practices had evolved more rapidly than the lowly funded section could match. The old apple computer screen with its low wattage green font display was an accurate testament to that as its sluggishly blinking cursor waited for his command prompts. On a cramped table to his left, a large stack of yellow-faded loose-leaf paper stood and to his right sitting on top of a filing cabinet, an empty basket labeled "Processed".

In his first week there, Kyouya had read the lengthy, burdensome technical manual that came with the FORTRAN-based computer software he was expected to use to input the half-century old handwritten summaries of Shinigami cases. At least the format of the records wasn't difficult to follow, but he did wonder why it was necessary to keep everything when right around 70 percent of the ones he had inputted ended peacefully. The most likely possibility was in the creation of an extensive database where a user could search for a similar case, but it simply made no logical sense to compare one drab report to another. However, he had learned that many ineffective methods were unquestioned bad habits perpetuated by an unchanging bureaucratic monopoly. Without any challenge to the status quo, anyone who understood business would easily acknowledge that stagnation would result, like a dictator in power too long.

The clock chimed eight times on the wall behind him in a space that amounted to 4 meters squared, a third of it used for furniture. For a moment he let the hectic rush and sound of the environment overtake his senses as the other 'public' servants scrambled about obviously late to work and eager to start with their endless stream of tedious tasks. He distantly noted the workplace disputes that occurred on a frequent basis and dismissed them as un-note-worthy, until maniacal laughter in the form of a bouncy teenage female dressed all in black, complete with a facemask, ran past the opening to his cubicle.

"Ninja win with cunning, Jiro! STICKY SHURIKEN ATTACK!"

Several white blurs flew past the opening, and seconds later, a heavy-set, plain-featured boy dressed head-to-toe in newspaper and topped with a matching hat trotted past, paper shurikens plastered in his hair and clothing, a newspaper machete held aggressively out as if it could actually do more harm than its materials suggested.

"Arrgh! Such puny attacks fer a land-lady, Shioeri-matey!!"

Yuki Shioeri and Jiro Hanasaki were most notable for their ninja versus pirate shenanigans and penchant for doing absolutely nothing the entire work day. As far as Kyouya could tell this did not damage the respect the other workers had for them. He attributed this group reaction to tradition. Though one wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at them like any of the workers around, chronologically they were the most senior workers in the section. Based on the information from other coworkers, Kyouya estimated that they were in their late 60s, pegging them being born sometime in the 1940s at the end of WWII.

"Hey, Ootori. Meeting at 10:30!" The busty, blue-eyed Shioeri had suddenly appeared above him traversing across the thin path that the faux walls made to create the illusion of privacy. The illusion of which obviously remained unconvincing to Kyouya.

"Thank you, but I read the memo, Miss Shioeri." He smiled politely at her.

"You're always so prepared!" She beamed at him and then ducked as several spitballs flew past causing the sudden shouts of disgust below her. Then she stuck her tongue out behind her, calling out in a fake accent. "I already best you and you back for more, pirate!"

"I WILL GIT YA, NINJA!"

Laughing she ran across the full span of the room, as he chased her on the room dividers. He was completely covered in shurikens, but surprisingly light on his feet.

Kyouya sighed, and began the day's horrendously monotonous, pointless task of inputting the dusty old records into the computer database. 'Equality in death' was true to its word. He had entered the place penniless and without connections with the supplies he had requested, only one outfit, a work suit, to his name, and a personnel file even he wasn't allowed access too. If one was accustomed to the inner workings of the commoner world, one might have been at ease working from the lower echelons of the social ladder and moving slowly up, but for Kyouya it proved itself to be an irritating experience.

As he waited for a much-anticipated transfer to another section, he considered the trivial filing he'd been assigned responsibility to as mind-numbing in its inconsequentiality. Plebeians of less skill could easily do his assignments.

A couple hours later, saving his work and shutting the computer off, he stood picking up his jacket and rolling the uncomfortable chair back into place behind the desk. Delicately retucking his leather-bound folder under his arm, he stepped clinically out into the jungle of mass-produced walls that smelled of dry rot. The entire section's furnishing should have been replaced ten years ago.

"Psst!"

Ignoring the attention-getter assuming it was directed at someone else, Kyouya turned waiting pressed up to a corner, checking his watch. A loud chime sounded at 10:00 and a stampede of workers flowed towards the break room laughing and gossiping amongst themselves.

"Psst! Mr. Ootori, I have a deal to propose."

He perked his head up looking into the paper-choked cubicle across from him. It was certainly a fire hazard, which was supposedly against company regulations. The neck-deep papers quivered and a middle-aged woman's head popped out with a sailor hat on grinning ear-to-ear at him. Unable to place a name, he opened his folder, clipping the cap off the pen, and jotted a few choice words down, then waited face a blank mask. She made no remark on his folder and pen, unlike many others in the office.

"I want you to try out a program for me!" She blurted out in a rush of air, red-faced as an arm appeared clutching a handful of floppy disks, the outdated 5" variety made of soft plastic. Kyouya knew that one couldn't even find informationally-unstable antiques like those anymore.

"Your name, madam?" He asked with cool politeness.

"Er… Nina. Nina Watari. Please call me Nina."

"What does your program do, Miss Nina?"

As she ducked her head the hat flew off and the entire stack she was in shuddered and then collapsed as she pulled out of it, the floppies held protectively against her. White-haired streaked with blonde, she barely came up to his breast bone. "I-it does the processing for you, three times faster."

His hand paused. "How does it gather the data?"

"I have an optical reading device to hook up to your computer." She whispered conspiratorially, "It uses lasers."

Kyouya was pleasantly incredulous at what he had heard, though it only appeared as a genuine smile. "You developed a scanner?"

Tilting her head she looked up at him quizzically, then grinned relaxing. "That's a better name for it than LAS-ORD."

"And what would you like in return for your program and regular maintenance of it?"

Blushing, she looked back and forth down the hall and hunched over. "Put Heiji in his place."

He smirked at the simple request. Heiji Kuroyama had been undefeated for years in winning the 'Number 1 Worker' title every month in the Processing Section with his perfectionism and OCD workaholic tendencies. If it weren't for his irreverent mannerisms, he would have been the model worker for everyone to aspire to be, which Kyouya had assumed was the original intention of the award. "What's the rate of error?"

"About 2 mistakes every 100 pages. I've spent a year debugging the program and fine-tuning the LAS-ORD."

His host flair spilled forth as he bowed and flourished his fingers still holding the pen towards his cubicle. "Be my guest, Miss Nina. I await the results of your ingenuity."

Nodding vigorously, she looked overjoyed and hopped into his cubicle without further preamble.

Re-capping the pen and closing his folder, he made his way towards the cherry blossoms out in the back. The trees seemed immune to the seasons, producing blossoms constantly.

An unfamiliar boy with strawberry blonde hair in casual clothing was reading in the spot Kyouya preferred to condense his notes, as it was quite some distance from the tables. After being crowded like chattel in a high production slaughterhouse for hours on end, he quite enjoyed the time and silence to himself. He turned around and headed towards the library not willing to rudely interrupt, and missing the green-eyed boy as he looked up curiously, noting Kyouya's presence even at their distance.

At 10:15, he entered the library quietly, nodding towards the twin floating poultry gods of bookkeeping who governed the sanctity of the library from two famously banned Shinigami, who held the record for destroying the place four times. The entire Summons Section was fraught with interesting characters, and while they were disgracefully underpaid they were the best funded out of all the divisions, which he attributed to high fees for property damages that occurred in their line of work.

"Kyouya, good morning to you." The twins stated, while the senior one moved to Kyouya's right a meter off the ground with books stacked in its arms to reshelf.

"Good morning, Gushoushin." It hadn't taken long to become accustomed to them even with their bizarre appearance. He didn't doubt that their boundless connections to people and funds helped with that.

"We have computers again!!" The one in the red hat, nearly squeaked out.

"Oh?" He smiled, immensely pleased. "Do they have internet access?"

"I believe so… Not a lot of people know about that, you know, especially if they're pre-1980s."

"Might I recommend tutorial workshops then? There is plenty of information to be gained from it." He neglected to tell them about the overwhelming amount of it being worthless as anybody could create a webpage without any credentials. He had his own reasons for wanting access.

"Hmm.. that's not a bad idea, Kyouya!"

"Of course. Let me know if you need help organizing it."

"You're such a nice young man."

He simply smiled politely, quashing the urge to reminisce on his life, and headed towards the computer stations. Sleek computer monitors using the Windows 98 logo met his eyes with Pentium 3 processors, not bad considering he had spent months staring at 30-year old apple models. Sitting down as he set his things down, he logged into an accredited financial website to check his stocks that were under aliases he hadn't put in his will, though if they had been inactive long enough they would have been automatically liquidated and donated to charities.

Finding their state somewhat lacking though better than he had originally invested, he sold the stocks and deposited them into the company-provided bank account. Then logged out of it, feeling accomplished. With that, he could move from the company dormitories of objectionable size to a more appropriate setting, away from his prying neighbors, who had been kind enough to help settle him in when he had first arrived.

Checking his watch, he realized he would be late for the weekly meeting if he didn't leave right that moment, and gathered his things.

The meetings had nothing of value in them. Knowing this, he sat down in the auditorium-sized room, directly in the middle of it where he wouldn't be brushed by as his coworkers passed him on their way to the empty seats around him. Many had no sense of another's personal space, and he found it was often a lack of forethought rather than insult. They had been trained to use space efficiently not elegantly. Precisely at 10:30, Chief Fusake walked on stage holding a speakerphone and energetically started his repetitious lecture.

Because it was Kyouya's seventh time through similar previous lectures, he ignored the vehement pomposity through which their thin, balding chief espoused the virtues of hard work and good coworker relations. He, instead, opened his folder and wrote out the locations in Meifu where his presence would be noticed as abnormal. He was well aware he would actually have to physically walk to available apartments to make any decision, but the list he was constructing was not to expedite the process through elimination. It was to alleviate his symptoms of boardroom boredom.

"What'cha writing there?"

He only smiled and closed it as the Chinese-featured young man, older-looking in respect to Kyouya by about five years, leaned in his direction. They were neighbors by three doors. "Mr. Xiadong, how is your art doing?"

"It's good. It's good." He leaned back, and opened his mouth to add to the dull roar of talking around them, but having anticipated Xu Xiadong's tenacity to ask personal questions Kyouya interrupted him.

"Have the fresco techniques of the 1400s done by European artisans brought a more intense color palette you desired into your painting?"

"Yes it has. Never reckoned that eggs could be used as a binding agent."

"That is a well-known fact in Western cooking techniques, so it's hardly surprising that it would cross disciplines."

"Yeah I suppose so." Properly distracted by a short attention span for random facts, Xu Xiadong looked away. The auditorium fell into hushed silence, which meant that the chief had finally come to the interesting part of his lecture. He listed off the names of individuals who would receive an extra stipend for dramatic improvement in their rank in the accountability system they used to measure 'hard work'. There were several excited whispers and defeated sighs as a result, while the chief orated for three minutes congratulating one set of workers and demonizing the rest in the same breath. Then, they were all dismissed, a scowling Xiadong leaving without another word. The man had been trying to climb that company ladder, clearly without success.

Knowing that his fellow workers would harass the ones who had the honor of a little extra money mercilessly, Kyouya shrewdly waited for the rush to untangle itself before standing, rearranging his suit by habit. He stiffened in surprise by the booming voice behind him.

"Good show, Ootori! Maybe we could throw a bash in your honor!" A clap on his back resulted in a one-armed hug. His face spasmed in anger, but he forced his face into tense calmness, waiting out her contact-oriented mindset instead of spurning it by bringing attention to it.

"While I appreciate the offer, I have other plans Mrs. Udo."

Kiko Udo was the rarity of a native redhead. Her predisposition to drinking in excess and an extreme possessiveness of all beautiful things was the root of her notorious temperament. In a good mood, the most she would do was provoke guilt in gullible workers where there was none. Otherwise, expecting money where none was due was her trademark.

Pulling away, she sighed discontentedly as if Kyouya had stolen her identity and put her into an obscene amount of debt. "Sure, Ootori. Take care. You know it's a shame that we hardly see you anymore."

"I wish you good health." Kyouya was rather proud of the fact that his neighbors were unable to bother him more, her especially since she was next door. Briefly, he recalled his apprehension when he realized that the dormitories were co-ed, thinking the communal bathrooms were the same. Luckily, it had been nothing more than a naïve conjecture.

With a despondent wave, Udo vacated the premises, but not before rudely producing gagging noises. Kyouya's eyes flicked to the side and met the sight of a short, brown-haired man in his early thirties.

"Ootori, congratulations on your bonus. Not many new recruits make it to the top ten list within two months." Nasally soft-spoken and rigidly composed, Kuroyama's stocky exterior greatly belied his true intents to the unsuspecting, though many in the Section knew of his venomous nature. "You might even be, dare I say, qualified for a transferal to better-suited divisions."

The once-called shadow king smiled, expressing no danger of the position that Kuroyama was in. "I'm flattered. Do you think I will usurp your lead?"

Kuroyama laughed taking the lesser experienced coworker's unconcerned tone as sarcasm and not the seriousness that it was. "As a rival? Oh, nobody can. I've been first place for five years running. I don't doubt that you will make second to me, but first? I've heard better jokes, Ootori. I give you an A for effort, but a C on presentation." With little more than a tilt of his head and a smug grin, the arrogant Kuroyama headed out, presumably to resume his regime of secretarial toil.

Having the large room to himself actually lent some comfort to Kyouya, despite the multitude of chairs standing in rows around him. With a malicious grin on his face and no witnesses around, he opened his folder and began to etch out a plan.

"Ootori?" A tentative voice called out into the spacious room, interrupting his scheming fervor.

"Yes, Miss Nina?" He glanced at his watch realizing that a half hour had elapsed, and closed his folder, heading towards the exit she was standing in.

Looking a bit intimidated she stepped behind the hooded trashcan by the double doors as he flicked off the lights and shut them. "It's done. You'll have to manually feed 150 pages in the slot, every two hours or so…"

Walking through the maze of cubicles to his own, he quickly did the math, slightly disappointed in the fact that her talents were wasted on old technology. "Roughly a page a minute?"

"Y-yeah.. As long as the paper doesn't get jammed, which tends to happen alot." Wincing, she said nothing else as if he was about to mercilessly critique her work.

"Considering the processing power and memory capacity of the models you have to deal with, I'm astonished it can even scan anything at all."

She stared at him, and then looked down at the badly worn, brown carpet ashamed of herself. Nina Watari even in her wiser years appeared to have low self-confidence in spite of her accomplishments. "W-well… I connected another hard drive to it, so that it would go faster and… I mean... when I tried to up the speed it would crash the computers and…" She hesitated and looked up at him, apparently baffled at his reaction.

"Were I to provide you with up-to-date technology, what would you do with it?"

She beamed. "Oh my goodness, if you did that, I.." She stopped again, uncertain. "I'd try to recreate LAS-ORD to see how much faster it could be."

"And if I were to say I was looking for someone interested in robotics?"

"Robotics?" Her face was alight in glee.

"Yes." That was the only answer he needed, and so ended their conversation as they neared his cubicle that was barricaded with a wall of vertically hanging papers with Buddhist or Taoist mantras on them. He paused not sure what to make of the paper amulets. He was aware of fuda magic, but had not actually witnessed someone perform it.

Making a quick sign, she muttered something unintelligibly, and they parted like curtains. He followed her through them, thankful that she had created a domed rather than a flat ceiling. With a flick of her wrist and finger, they closed behind her. A lamp that wasn't there earlier was conveniently on and standing in the corner.

The bulky contraption was already running, making a pile of papers in what remaining space Kyouya and Nina were not taking up, while the conjoined computers whirred softly the screen flickering as command prompts were entered automatically. He was writing notes. "Miss Nina, I do believe that your magic might garner unwanted attention."

"Nobody would care." That statement contradicted certain policies on use of fuda-magic during work hours, not that Kyouya particularly bothered with work policies having broken several already without negative consequences and planning to break another two.

"And why would that be?"

"They all respect you. You know everyone's name regardless of status or rank, and so nobody would rat you out other than Heiji. Besides, you seem like you're used to privacy and space, and the rumor is that you grew up in America for being a really smart kid."

The gossip mill never ceased to amuse him. Flipping the folder closed, he chuckled, deliberately eyeing the paper amulets. "So, I suppose two raps will tell you when I need you to let me out?"

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry. Do you know how to…? No, of course you wouldn't or else you wouldn't be asking. Ok. Well, here's what we have to do…" She sat down and explained in simple terms the fundamental mindset and the mechanics of the actual act, giving demonstrations each step of the way.

Within three hours, he had opened and re-closed the fuda wall by himself, and she assured him that it wouldn't respond to anyone else as it hadn't been 'attuned' to them. Once he knew their lesson was over, his furious note-taking re-began.

"It's also very good at blocking out spiritual energy, if you noticed."

"I'm unable to sense in that way." He smiled, omitting that there was cause behind it.

"Well, some time I'll show you how to make o-fuda. They react better to the original owner. To be honest.. I'm really just an amateur at this." Glancing at her watch, she eeped. "I missed lunch break! No wonder I'm so hungry." She stood up from her cross-legged position on the ground. "See you, Ootori!"

He nodded, and she did the appropriate moves to pass through the barrier.

Setting his folder down, he checked his computer, refilled the tray with records, and entered 'y' for it to resume, bending over to collect the processed sheets and dumping them haphazardly into the 'Processed' basket. No longer would his death days have to be filled with hellish monotony. He could do precisely as he wished during the times it wasn't expected of him to be at a meeting.

Grabbing his folder, he left the silent cocoon of fuda into the loud, over-paced setting of the office and its mishaps, proceeding at his usual pace to the library in search of recently old Meifu newspapers to find an apartment suitable to his taste, yet something he could afford over an unknown amount of time. His salary only provided a meager amount that barely covered his food and hygiene expenses.

It was not a comfortable feeling being so poor.

Two weeks later, well rested since the move into his new apartment, he began methodically pulling strings, using the weaknesses of his fellow workers as bargaining chips.

Nina's invention was remarkable, having caught up to preliminary second place, but at the rate Kuroyama was working Kyouya was still a week behind beating him.

The following day, accidents began occurring around one Heiji Kuroyama that prevented him from working efficiently. People were in his way when he would take a break or gossiping loudly about him near his cubicle no matter how much he yelled at them. Three days later his computer crashed and the computer technician couldn't be found. One thing after another added up that by the end of the week, there was a cheer of unadulterated delight when Kyouya walked on stage to receive the monthly-given reward.

"Let everyone know that with persistence and drive even a 5-year defending champion can be defeated!!" The chief exclaimed ending the shower of unoriginal praise to the award-winner. He pulled the speakerphone away, speaking lowly. "You have any heartwarming advice for your coworkers, Mr. Ootori?"

"Yes." The speakerphone switched hands, and a deviously innocent-looking Kyouya raised it. "Firstly, my winning had nothing to do with persistence. It was simply a matter of calculating the incumbent's rate of entry and surpassing it." Or lowering it, he left out. He paused as the crowd of faces laughed lightly and jeered at Heiji who was standing near the front of the stage with a look of abject fury on his face. "Secondly, I would like to thank Nina Watari for her relentless support. Even third place from the bottom, she selflessly encouraged my goal of outshining the best." Enough said, he handed the speakerphone back, and moved off the stage, award already tucked into his folder.

He had learned that Nina never came to the meetings despite their requirement, and knew her paycheck was docked some undisclosed amount because of this. Because of the consequence of a lower paycheck, he always attended them. Now that the entire room had heard that she was the catalyst, they would most likely buffer any verbal attacks Kuroyama made outside of Kyouya's hearing that he had predicted would have happened regardless of his announcement. Respect was a powerful influence on people.

As he passed Heiji, he did not acknowledge his presence though the same couldn't be said for the infuriated man, and the meeting adjourned. Once the room had emptied enough, he made for his exit, but not before hearing the dethroned champion make a claim of foul play on his part.

When Chief Fusake with Kuroyama in tow visited his cubicle not ten minutes later, nothing was amiss, the barrier and odd technology relocated temporarily.

"Ootori, Kuroyama has suggested you sabotaged his work last week. Is there any truth in this?"

"No, Chief. However, I am rather busy with my work, so if there's nothing else, please excuse me." With poise, Kyouya continued reading and typing, giving the explicit impression of a studious hardworker. As far as the chief was concerned, Kuroyama was being a poor sport, and reprimanded him accordingly ordering him back to work. Then the chief headed back to the only office with a door in the room, grumbling under his breath about Heiji's paranoia.

"Well!" Shioeri clucked her tongue and unburied the bulky scanner and computers from the paper heap in Nina's cubicle with Jiro's help.

Kyouya had already disconnected the monitor/computer, which was then lifted by Nina, who had timidly appeared behind him. Immediately Shioeri mothered her, admiration pouring forth for her creations and taking the company-issued computer from her.

"Th-thanks!"

"Hey, Kyouya, outta the way." Slipping past him, Jiro had both devices underarm the scanner almost scraping the ground, and set them gently in their desired positions. Nina hurriedly went about checking them over after plugging everything in properly and restarting the program as Jiro hovered over her shoulder watching curiously.

Shioeri held out a fuda for the newly appointed 'Number 1' worker.

"What's this?" Kyouya flipped the paper charm over piqued by the intricate patterning covering it.

"Now it won't look so obvious when you put that barrier back up. Though a simple fuda-assisted scan would detect it, it'll work for this environment." She winked. "I was taught by the best in the Ministry, you know."

"The infamous Tsuzuki?" He smiled knowingly.

Jutting a hip out and a closed fist on it, she huffed. "Okay, wise guy. What's he infamous for other than fuda magic?"

"Being the most powerful and oldest active Shinigami in history, causing more property damages both in the Ministry and the living world than half the employees of the Summons Section combined, and a terrible track record of not bringing souls in when given a summons." He listed off easily. "I could name more, but they're less known facts."

"Have you actually met any of the Shinigami?"

"No." It was disappointing, but the Shinigami kept strange work hours and the Summons Section was off-limits to non-Shinigami personnel. It was far more likely to meet them outside of work than inside the Ministry, but, even then, the unlikeliness of such an event neared zero percent. Kyouya wouldn't stoop to stalking Ministry employees just to quell his curiosity.

"Ah. Well, our division has been a starting place for a few of the Shinigami who are stubbornly active."

"Are you hinting at something?" He cracked his folder open, pen at ready.

"I heard that you wanted a transfer there." She grinned, eyes flicking noticeably to his ear where the shadow-inhibiting jewelry was. "You're a little early, but Tatsumi went inactive before you were born, so he should be prepared."

If she was referring to his inborn talent that had been sealed away by the tiny obsidian clasp on his right earlobe, he wondered what the secretary of the Summons Section had to do with anything, not understanding the association.

Quickly reviewing what he had learned during his first month of reading through all the books the library had on the unusual trait of controlling shadows, he knew that shadow users were uncommon to the point to their being only one or two in the Judgment Bureau at any given time. When there were two, one mentored the other before retiring.

In less than a few seconds, he realized that Seiichirou Tatsumi would be his mentor. "Should he be, if I'm as early as you say?"

Shioeri shrugged noncommittally.

"Done," Nina murmured uncomfortably.

Feet shoulder-width apart and hands steepled, Kyouya concentrated on the paper slip humming a primitive chant out and the paper flew out and stuck itself to the wall directly across from the entrance into his cubicle, the sight and sound of Nina's machines disappearing under a cloak of magic, the sense of normalcy revealing everything was as it should be.

"Oh, excellent form, Ootori! If a little amateurish…" Shioeri commented.

"Th-that's my fault." Nina spoke up, and received a pat on the head.

"It demonstrates the ableness of the teacher too then. Rough, but he performed it without a mistake."

Nina fell silent.

"I have a question for you, Kyouya." Jiro piped up cheerfully. Kyouya quirked an eyebrow.

"How did you move out of the dorms? Your stipends couldn't have provided enough money for that!"

He smiled enigmatically, rearranging his hands on his folder. "Saving for the future is useful, isn't it?"

"And as usual, you never give a straight answer." Hanasaki puffed out his cheeks into a sulk.

"Would you really expect anything more from him, Jiro? Come on, there are other subordinates to pester, like shorty over here. Bye, Ootori!"

"Sh-shorty? Shorty?!" Nina parroted agitatedly, only to look up when Hanasaki and Shioeri looped their arms around hers.

"Good day to you as well, Miss Shioeri. Mr. Hanasaki. Miss Nina." And, off they went dragging a protesting Nina in between them and smothering her with affection.

Now that he had foiled Kuroyama in barely a month, he wasn't sure what he would do with his idle time, and re-entered his cubicle taking a seat. He could sponsor side-projects that used Nina's talent for only so long before he ran out of money. It was disheartening. Opening his folder, he added the little he knew to Tatsumi's profile, a bit curious to know what the man was like.

That was when a hush fell over the office. One of Enma's veiled messengers appeared at his cubicle with a blank closed envelope outstretched from its emanciated dark green limb. The messenger's body was wide enough to cross the space in between the cubicles and towered over the walls. "Ootori Kyouya, your new appointment begins the next work day." The voice was loud and raspy, sounding similar to multiple steel beads raining down on corrugated tin. Lord Enma certainly wasn't secretive about transferals, though Kyouya could hardly form an opinion only knowing the instance that was happening now.

Courteously thanking the courier, Kyouya opened the letter. Briefly skimming it, he reaffirmed that his transferal to the Summons Section had been approved. An audible pop sounded as the large being vanished out of the corner of his eye.

Suspiciously droll since he had tabulated that the average wait for a transfer was 2.5 years, he hoped that those lesser Death gods would prove to be entertaining, while his painfully ordinary coworkers swarmed to him like bees to nectar.

TBC.


	3. An inconducive relationship

_Preface: Not much to say. Voila. Kyouya is a Shinigami with all the perks. And he meets some of the YnM cast. Oh and Watari has his Kansai accent. Nothing major on plot movement yet, but there will be.  
_

* * *

Slipping on his recently pressed suit, Kyouya gently tapped his glasses in place and scanned the mirror pleased with the immaculate sophistication his image presented. While dry-cleaning was horrendously expensive in comparison to how much the paychecks distributed, his own attempts at ironing were less than satisfactory. Locking the door with a much lighter folder in hand since he had removed all references to the Processing Section, he stepped out of the apartment, focusing on the cherry grove outside of the Ministry and disappeared. A burst of wind carrying fresh blossoms flowed around him enticingly tugging at the lapels of his coat. The Shinigami ability to teleport was certainly a freeing experience, given that he had been walking to work ever since he arrived, since he was unwilling to pay monthly to rent a bicycle like other workers.

Entering the building, he absently nodded towards a few early workers who had called his name. Happily breaking from habit, he continued onward up the long staircase, instead of turning left at the first intersection. Kyouya first noticed how very quiet and still it was. He imagined magic blocking noise waves from the lower offices to prevent disturbing the constant committee meetings occurring behind the impractically tall, ornately gilded doors at the top of the long flight of stairs. Inspecting the door only briefly at a distance of several meters, he turned right, down the dark, foreboding hallway lit only by two ambient lights connected to the wall. The effect was rather tasteless to him. Non-Shinigami, previously-human personnel, excluding chiefs and other higher-ranked officials, were simply not allowed down this restricted hall, leaving nearly a fourth of the building solely for this section's use.

Stopping less than a meter away from the door underneath the sign entitled 'Summons Section', it opened inward towards the office for him and a blue-eyed man stopped mid-motion, dressed in an old-style brown suit. The man looked down at him curiously through similarly old-styled, though too thin-framed to match, glasses with a couple of file folders in hand. The man's fashion was at least fifty years out of date, and the modern materials that made up the glasses looked out of place. Kyouya absently wondered what had befallen the first pair, since his had been generously replaced. "Ootori?"

At the teen's nod and smile, the distracted man of late twenties checked his contemporary Rolex watch with a satisfied smile. "You're right on time. My name is Seiichirou Tatsumi. Please follow me." After the dim hallway, the door swung open to a bright contrast of light streaming in through the windows on the opposite wall showing a great view of the back area of the Ministry. Straight ahead of Kyouya was a gargantuan, ancient copier machine and along the office's remaining walls were tall filing cabinets with disheveled stacks of folders on top. Seven desks covered the main floor, which was curious since there were precisely eighteen Shinigami. At least the decorator abstained from adding cubicles in an already cramped space. Needless to say, Kyouya's first impression of the office was how inefficiently and unorganized the workspace was.

Tatsumi set the files on the only occupied desk of the pointy-eared worker, whose legs were propped up on the table. "Mr. Terazuma. If you would please deliver these to the Judgment Section for processing…"

The lax Shinigami of mid-twenties, face marked with peculiar shapes, stood rigidly, and yet casually grabbed the files tapping them haphazardly against his shoulder.

"Sure thing, Secretary." With only a cursory eye flick at their newest member, he muttered warnings of a frightening temper under his breath.

Kyouya coolly watched the interesting man leave, mind more on the parasitic summon that possessed the man than on Tatsumi, who was discussing the work climate and expectations.

They entered another office, slightly smaller than the one that housed the workers. As they passed the eighth desk on their left, Tatsumi nodded to the elderly-looking man sitting down behind another much-larger desk. "Chief Konoe, this is Kyouya Ootori."

The teen bowed politely remaining silent, merely observing his new boss. Chief Konoe, stood up with the slow grace of the elderly, dressed in a more modern business style than Tatsumi, and walked around the immense desk to return a slight bow at him. Neither of their eyes had been drawn to the jewelry on his ear, which the teen found peculiar. Either they didn't notice it or they were ignoring it, and since he knew neither of them he was unable to determine which was the case.

"Nice to meet you, Kyouya. I hope Tatsumi hasn't been boring you with details?"

Kyouya suppressed the cruel smirk threatening the corners of his lips, wondering whether Chief Konoe had been given a personality profile before their meeting. "No, he has been helpful."

"Good!" Konoe took his word for it effortlessly; the man either was cunning or had merely been making small talk.

His boss walked to the small table with a hot water machine and a jar of dark tea leaves and made himself a fresh cup of tea that smelled like Oolong from across the room. "Tatsumi, this is your new partner. You'll be mentoring him for the duration of the year until he has control over his abilities."

At Tatsumi's reaction, Kyouya's face remained still as his fingers delicately removed the pen from his front coat pocket and cracked open his folder. With a quick click, he wrote down his observations of the morning so far in his usual shorthand code that he used before compiling raw data into profiles on events, places, or people, and then detailed what was transpiring now.

The man had frozen at those words as if it was taking a moment for the orders to sink in. Only just then noticing the black clasp on his ear, Tatsumi with an intense, penetrating look, but a polite smile, spoke to Kyouya civilly, though it was heavily undertoned with a darkness that completely negated his attempt at cordiality. "You're a shadow user, Ootori?"

Tatsumi's tension was most likely emotional distress from anxiety or anger, and, connecting the dots with words on paper, Kyouya suspected that his mentor hadn't even been given the courtesy of being told the nature of his arrival. Choosing his words carefully, Kyouya stopped writing and smiled evenly. "I believe 'user' indicates a significant ability of control."

That tension seemed to rush out of the man as Tatsumi smiled back, as if genuinely struck by what the teen had said. "It does." Kyouya smothered his smirk. The man was easy to manipulate. Still smiling, the secretary gave an unhappy look at their chief who showed no remorse for the surprise. "You could have at least given me a warning. I'm hardly prepared to teach anything at this time."

"If I had, you would have found a way to refuse, and you know very well the repercussions of that." Sipping his tea carefully, the Chief smiled kindly with a mischievous gleam to his eyes. "As for not being prepared, think of the next week as a planning week. You are free of all of your responsibilities except Kyouya, so be sure to show him around, Tatsumi."

"Yes, Chief." With a set stiffness to his shoulders, the taller man walked out of the office with Kyouya in tow. They both bid their chief a polite farewell. The door closed to Konoe's office with a snick of finality. They exchanged wary glances cloaked by smiles.

Neither Chief nor Tatsumi had even looked strangely at Kyouya when he was writing notes. Perhaps it was a more common thing than he was aware. Or maybe they were used to quirkier characters.

There was a sudden loud explosion nearby that rumbled the ground under their feet and rattled the large window. Heaving a tired sigh, Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. A habit perhaps expressing his annoyance, Kyouya noted. "Not now, Watari…"

On their way across the office space, Kyouya noticed a bulletin board hanging on the wall to the left of the door with written statuses of Shinigami, but decided to inspect it later. Opening the door into the smoke-filled hallway, Tatsumi strode into the haze directly towards the billowing smoke and the coughing soot-covered longhaired man who was currently attempting to clean his round-framed glasses on an equally grimy coat that was typical of a doctor or scientist. Having followed a bit more cautiously, Kyouya was betting on the latter.

"Mr. Watari." The maniacal grin on his mentor's face was somewhat fear-provoking as the man looked more deranged than the unhinged appearance of the other smoke-stained Shinigami. Standing at an observable distance away, Kyouya was surprised that he had no profile on the man, and made a note to ask Watari if he was related to Nina as there was quite a resemblance between them.

"Tatsumi!!" Watari exclaimed in an obviously exaggerated tone of surprise. It was obvious this scene occurred quite frequently. If explosions were common, Kyouya didn't know how they had escaped his notice before, though he hesitated assuming magic was its probable fix, since he had little knowledge in that area.

"Consider your budget proposal refused." Laughing inwardly, Kyouya wanted to know how Tatsumi would do that if Konoe had relieved him of all his duties, but said nothing.

"I dìn't damage nothin' that expensive! Cross my heart!" When Watari flailed arms in their general direction glasses in hand, a bird—a miniature owl, Kyouya corrected—also soot-covered flapped lightly in the nest of grimy blond hair. This Watari was definitely quirkier than the teen, and, apparently nearsighted, only spotting Kyouya when he moved forward to jab a finger at Tatsumi. Backing up a bit, Watari dropped his hands, squinting at the teen. "Hooh, who's that with ya?"

Before Tatsumi could speak for him, he closed his folder and stepped forward, bowing slightly as he introduced himself.

The man blinked down at him quietly, then grinned brightly, plopping the smudged glasses back on his face only then giving Kyouya a once over. "My, my. The appearance s'alike an' jus' as stuffy as ya, Tatsumi!" With a flourish of his coat and a forefinger upraised to his jaw, he turned back to Tatsumi. The overall effect created tension between his effeminate body movement and masculine Kansai dialect. "Ya've finally bìn reassigned?" Switching gears, he turned enthusiastically back to the Kyouya. "That means yer a shadow user, huh, Kiddo? Aren't ya here 30 years too early tho'? S'probably a good thing since Tatsumi stopped routine assignments. S'bìn about fifteen years …"

At that, the ex-secretary's right cheek and eye twitched violently, growling 'Watari' out before snapping at the honey blond man in lecture format.

Hiding the affront of being designated as 'Kiddo' behind a cool mask and ignoring the line of questioning, Kyouya reopened his folder, keenly interested on the hints of a blackmailing opportunity. He was nearly a hundred percent convinced that this man had been a scientist while he was alive. Most doctors, even pediatricians, held themselves with the air of dignity that was expected of them, though if enough time passed personalities and training could change, he supposed. Scientists and doctors alike were known to be wacky after periods of isolation during research.

Having blocked the majority of Tatsumi's lecture out, Kyouya's attention came back just as Tatsumi threw a very long printout out to demonstrate his point. There was still a bit left folded when the end touched the ground. "This is how much the Ministry has spent on you from destroying your lab and surrounding areas for the past three months!! Until you better value the funds you are given, you will have to make do with your monthly salary." Without further word, he folded the printout neatly, stuffed it back into his inner coat pocket, and walked coolly by the husk of the 'lab'.

Now that the smoke had dispersed, Kyouya briefly examined the room not minding that Tatsumi had stormed off, seeing mangled science equipment and the typical layout of furnishing one would find in a science lab. He firmly labeled Watari as an unsafe scientist, briefly speculating if a similar explosion had killed him and noting not to participate in any experiments if met with an offer.

"S'charming as ever." Wistful, sad eyes looked towards the direction that Tatsumi had left in, and then with a deep breath and a smile, the man turned to Kyouya. "My name's Yutaka Watari, Ministry's only Shinigami that doubles as a scientist an' doctor, 'n charge of Sector 6, Kinki Prefecture."

A loud hoot punctuated the air. "Oh an' this's 003." Cupping the tiny bird that hooted softly and cocked her head intelligently in his hands, he mimicked his owl unconsciously tilting his head smiling at their newest member disregarding how fanatical he looked with his hair frizzed out on one side.

"He was relieved of his position this morning upon my introduction to Chief Konoe."

"Ohhhh?" His voice undulated carefully, setting the owl back into his hair and waved his right hand. "He can't cut my budget anyway, tho' he can refuse my proposals all he likes. He jus' gets worked up when all his hard work 'n budgetin' goes to waste. Since he got the job, he started a retirement fund fer those've us who are stayin' after we retire, y'see. An' whenever we damage too much property he can't add to it."

"I see." Kyouya's hand was furiously writing. That meant there were others within the Summons Section that were in the same situation as he was. People who Enma wished to keep nearby.

Spending less than a half second staring at his folder and pen, Watari grinned. "Don't let him bully ya too much, ok, Kiddo? Now gìt goin'! Tatsumi s'a stickler fer procedure. Plus, 003 s'gonna kill me if I don't give her a bath soon! Bye!" Tossing a wink, he walked directly back into his destroyed lab, splashing through the slowly draining puddles of water leftover from the sprinklers going off.

Jotting the last of the observations he had and pocketing the pen, Kyouya walked towards the Shinigami-only dojo, which he suspected Tatsumi had disappeared into.

--

After he had left, Watari cheerfully cleaned his owl carefully under warm water and gentler variety of soap. She hooted and chirped lowly, as he toweled her off.

"Ya thought he was a strange Kiddo too, huh? What d'ya think he wrote down about us 'n that folder of his?" A clucking of beak snapping, a shiver, and ruffling of feathers later had poofed her out to twice her size. "Ya really think so?" The scientist laughed. "Personally, I thought he had kind eyes behind all that schemin' calculation, not unlike Kazu's." Another soft hoot, and he ran a knuckle down her back. "Agreed. Whatever happens, things should start gettin' interestin' again."

Both falling silent, the scientist stared out the small window across from his computer desk untouched from the chaos of the explosion and sprinklers. Barrier spells seemed infinitely durable, especially when made by a certain someone in the Ministry.

"Least he's close ta Kid's age."

A distressing hoot sounded the owl's agreement.

--

Finding Tatsumi standing by the dojo, Kyouya removed his shoes after him and followed him into a private room that seemed more suited for a conference of many rather than two.

"Sit." The ex-secretary had brewed them some green tea in well-used cups, setting one for Kyouya and one for himself before sitting quietly across from him at the low table, sipping at his cup. His eyes showed he was deep in thought, so Kyouya decided not to interrupt, enjoying the moment of silence.

Tatsumi was a great deal grateful that their best team was not due to arrive until tomorrow. He hoped it would be later rather than sooner. After several minutes of contemplative, comfortable silence, Tatsumi leaned back into the chair setting his cup down.

"Have you already researched the history of the shadow users?"

"I have." Opening his folder, Kyouya summarized the most important details. "Some books mention that the shadow ability could be the result of a parasitic summon refusing to sever contract after its master befell disaster and melded together with the soul in order to save it, granting the soul with inhuman abilities. However, because of the frequency of shadow users, most experts agree that the shadow ability is merely a blood trait, possibly placed on certain souls due to some forgotten contract with Lord Enma."

After that explanation, he dryly read off the names of the most important previous users based on their discoveries. After that, Kyouya generalized that mastery appeared to be highly individualized varying from person to person, which required that master shadow users mentor novice shadow users to proficiency. However the part that Kyouya had failed to find as he combed through all those texts were the details of how one went about controlling them. He flipped the folder closed and placed it in his lap for further referencing as he needed.

Tatsumi's eyebrows lifted at his trainee's use of the folder. "That's correct. I assume you haven't yet discovered where the starting point is for you?"

It was a rhetorical question of course so Kyouya didn't answer. Eyes flicking to the ear-clasp, Tatsumi offered a hand, palm up. The universal beggar sign seemed at odds with his poise. "Remove it."

Not questioning despite all previous attempts at removal being fruitless, Kyouya's hand moved to the clasp, which suddenly fell off on its own accord and bounced once on the table directly into Tatsumi's palm. Kyouya stared at the wiggling device briefly before looking coolly at his teacher.

It was the strangest sensation being in the same room as another shadow user, especially when the shadows flocked and flooded around him and ignored his teacher. Already the shadows seemed eager, curling around his legs and up his torso. Almost immediately after, he found himself suffocating in the dark cloud around him, but then it was physically split and pushed away by other shadows controlled by his mentor.

"Apparently, your research missed the part about the cannibalistic nature of our abilities." Adjusting his glasses, Tatsumi sipped his tea, not further commenting on how Kyouya's errant shadows had nearly smothered him. The clasp had been created attuned to Kyouya's unique soul signature, and, rolling it around in his hand, he felt a strangely familiar signature. "Do you know when your ability seems the most out of control?"

"No." The shadows receded held back and quivering, cut off from him. They itched, but Kyouya knew better than to touch them again. The thought of sharing them felt abnormal as well when he could keenly sense Tatsumi's energy on them. Flipping his folder open, he jotted his experiences, frightening or mediocre, down.

"Ah." Going over his choices to approach the topic, Tatsumi turned the clasp over in his hand looking at it and remembering his own months of leaning. "It is the inherent nature of our ability to gather shadows of consumption when we are least like ourselves. To control is to simply find what mindset presents the most control over those shadows."

His pupil remained dutifully silent, the scratching of the pen the only noise in the room. The shadows suddenly ceased their constant struggle under Tatsumi's vigilant restraint, and the pen-scratching stilled as Kyouya looked up with what seemed like an uncharacteristic smirk and calculation evident on his face. "I believe calmness would be it."

Taken aback, Tatsumi looked skeptical, but decided if his pupil was wrong it wouldn't be a difficult to batten the shadows down again. Some lessons were best learned through mistakes. "I will release them then."

The shadows lay thick around Kyouya but did not stick to him or even seem to notice him. As they began to dissolve back to their normal states, Tatsumi looked troubled, but masked it with a pleasant smile, standing. "I suppose that's enough for today. I have to go prepare lessons for you."

Giving him a bored look, Kyouya's tone was enriched with dry sarcasm. "If that was all I needed to know to control them, then thank you for the lessons, _master_." Closing his folder, he stood up looking disdainfully down at Tatsumi.

"Affix it", was the response he received.

As he had turned to leave, the clasp flew up and pinched his ear painfully. Having such a handicap with a master shadow user was not what he called fair play, but such was life. His features had naturally returned to calmness.

Stifling his anger at Kyouya's arrogant rudeness, Tatsumi stood glasses having acquired a dangerous glint as his shadows twitched. "Until I permit it, you are not allowed without Lord Enma's restriction. Knowing how to control is much easier than doing it." A smirk played over Tatsumi's features then as if he had recalled something, while his tone sounded overconfident to Kyouya's ears. "I had heard rumors that you moved out of the company dormitories already. You realize outside funds are illegal here and may require you to have several privileges revoked if you are found guilty? Shared housing will be the least of your worries."

Serenely, Kyouya met his eyes without dropping his gaze in response to a challenge. If the ex-secretary wanted to play a game he had mastered while alive, why would he question his mentor's folly? "Do you happen to know a tea in a famous tea shop called 'Tatsumi of Kyoto'?"

With a murderously suppressed flinch, Tatsumi squared his shoulders with a light shrug. "Of course. Your point?"

Continuing on, Kyouya's smile broadened. "There is allegedly a tragic tale behind its name. Supposedly, an adolescent boy began working at a newspaper business to keep his family from going bankrupt doing all manner of grunt jobs. His father gambled tenaciously after the war was lost, abandoning his position as head of a once-prestigious family. As a result, since both himself and his brother were too young to take charge, the duty fell on his mother, who was terrible at maintaining—"

"Are you aware that threatening me with blackmail will do little for your case?" Tatsumi interrupted abruptly, his shadows licking up the walls around them.

"Hm." Kyouya eyed his shadows then smiled, pulling his folder out to jot down several notes. "So you truly are the infamous great-grand-uncle."

"As you've researched, the ability is passed down through the generations, generally skipping every four or so. Personally, I didn't know whose descendant you were." His condescending tone expressed that he didn't quite care either. It seemed implausible that his younger brother's genes had generated such a sharp kid, but the only other one who could have had never settled down to marry or have children.

Kyouya flipped to the front of his folder, eyes flicking over the page. "There was also a rumor of an old office romance about the time you effectively quit being an active Shinigami."

"Which is greatly exaggerated I can assure you. Tsuzuki and I were never more than coworkers."

"Yes, of course." No one had mentioned names. Chuckling to himself, he circled Tsuzuki's name. It was amusing to find out why Tatsumi had borne no children despite being moderately wealthy a few years before his premature death, and very rare to find a man who had had no ambitions of marrying. His conclusion would have infuriated his paternal grandparents, who were as narrow-minded as ultra-conservative thinkers could get, not that he ever minded encouraging their contempt.

Restraining his stubborn anger, Tatsumi tried to unruffle the feathers that his pupil had purposefully disturbed. "If you are so eager to be free of my tutelage, I will test you tomorrow night on your influence over the shadows in the area behind the Ministry. If you fail, you will remain under my guidance without complaint."

"And assuming I win, I suppose the seal on my ability will be removed, and your shoddy guidance will cease."

"Fortunately that will be the case, though I wonder if you will regret that?" His teacher's cheek had an unfortunate tic to it, possibly a symptom of the excessive stress Kyouya induced in him.

"Am I dismissed?" Kyouya merely replied brushing aside the pointless warning. He already knew the danger, having experienced just a taste of it only ten minutes ago.

"Yes." The ex-secretary smiled, all predilection towards anger gone from his face, though the smile was more of a predatory baring of teeth. "If you need anything of me, I'll be in my office." His soon-to-be ex-mentor then excused himself, and took a swift exit.

After waiting a few minutes as he finished his green tea, Kyouya re-entered the main floor of the dojo, and paused at the familiar sight of a strawberry blond teen, dressed in a gi and hakama, his arms and neck wrapped in bandages. As the teen performed a series of planned moves with a bo, Kyouya could tell the teen was skilled, maybe not as skilled as Haninozuka, but he might match Morinozuka evenly in a fight. Suddenly green eyes with cat-like pupils prickled at him probably aggravated at his scrutinizing. The staff was propped against his shoulder as he padded towards Kyouya.

With a slight tilt of his head, the Shinigami introduced himself politely. "The name's Hisoka Kurosaki."

Despite his informality, Kyouya recognized pedigree when he heard it. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Kyouya Ootori." Kyouya said naturally with a polite bow, which was returned.

Kurosaki wasn't a particularly wealthy or traveled family, but their lineage was old. Kyouya only knew of the name because their young successor, the one standing before him, had died quite suddenly of an atypical skin disease in an Ootori facility. The suddenness and mystery of his death had concerned his father, who had theorized that the young Kurosaki's symptoms were possibly a new assassination poison, undetectable and cause for concern, especially since Nagare, the head of the Kurosakis, and his wife had been murdered in a gory, unnatural fashion a few days before Hisoka's affliction appeared. However, the fact remained that Hisoka had died right after his 18th birthday about eight years ago, about the time Kyouya was enrolled in 4th grade and his older brothers were in high school.

Cracking open his folder, Kyouya began correcting a scantly filled profile. He must have heard wrong when he had learned from the Gushoushin Kurosaki's physical characteristics months ago, which was why he hadn't recognized him. "What form of Martial arts were you just practicing?

Hisoka peered curiously at his folder, not sure how to take the quirk. "Way of the Spear."

The black-haired Shinigami nodded, not that interested in his fighting style. "A classic. Would you be open to a sparring match? Once I am able to remove this, that is." With a gesture, he pointed out the clasp. There wasn't any recognition on Kurosaki's face, though he hadn't expected any.

"What weapon would you use? I'm no good at hand to hand."

"My shadows to any weapon of your choice."

There was a sharp intake of breath, but there was no change in his demeanor at the disclosure. "I thought Mr. Tatsumi looked pissed when he left." He stated wryly, by way of explanation. After a long pause where Hisoka looked like he would present a question, Hisoka finally spoke hesitantly. "I remember you now from several weeks back. You almost snuck up on me."

"Oh?" Having previously heard several hints of Kurosaki's ability by the Gushoushin, his interest was piqued wishing to fill the gaps. "That doesn't happen often, I take it?"

"No. But then, there's only two shadow users around so… Why was Mr. Tatsumi angry?" He switched the subject quickly, stretching his legs as a cool down exercise, thinking he might be talking for a while.

"Our personalities aren't conducive to a teacher-student relationship."

"I see. Then that would make you his reluctant student?" Legs done, he worked on his torso and arms.

Kyouya half-shrugged, gesturing lightly with his pen-hand. "I'd more define it as unwilling, quite frankly. I'm curious though. How long have you been partnered with Mr. Tsuzuki?"

That earned him a suspicious look as Hisoka resumed leaning against his bo. "How did you know that?"

"It isn't that hard to overhear office gossip." Kyouya smiled enigmatically.

"About five years. Though that idiot probably doesn't keep track of time like normal people." Hisoka's tone had an edge of petulance to it.

"Were you looking forward to an anniversary?" Kyouya stated with reserved amusement, interested in how Hisoka would react.

"Why would—" Cheeks slightly tinged red, whether in embarrassment or anger was unknown, Kurosaki's jaw shut tightly, and then loosened to mumble. "It's nothing special."

"Mm."

The sliding door to the dojo slammed open, as a frantic man with very dark brown, unkempt hair and his suit wrinkled stumbled in. "Hisokaaaaaaaa!" he whined out, breathing heavily. "You need to at least tell me where you're going! First, Tatsumi yelled at me and then the Gushoushin—" Blinking odd purple eyes at the unfamiliar teen standing next to his partner, Tsuzuki straightened and smiled widely. "Oh hello there! I'm Asato —"

"Tsuzuki, in charge of the Kyushu prefecture. I'm Kyouya Ootori. Nice to meet you." Kyouya answered for him, only surprised that Tsuzuki was almost as tall as he was for being nearly a century old.

Hisoka glanced at Kyouya curious at the sudden shift in tone.

"Ah.. y-yeah. Same here." Tsuzuki tried not to let the newbie's piercing stare unsettle him, already feeling vaguely insulted by Kyouya's abruptness, and looked to his partner for help, who uncooperatively glared at him. "Welcome to the Summons Section!" He forced a grin on his face, resolute to remain mature in the face of an unpleasant personality.

Kyouya shoved memories of his best friend down, whom the man before him looked and sounded nothing like, but whose presence did. The energy Tsuzuki brought into the room was undeniable. There was now little question as to why people either hated or adored him. "If you'll excuse me for being brief, but do you know of a way to remove a seal placed by Lord Enma?" If anyone knew how, it would be the most experienced member.

All movement stilled as the two Shinigami collectively held their breaths at his utterance of taboo. Tsuzuki's face had become seriously stony eyes scanning his face, while Kurosaki looked shocked.

"When it comes to an Enma seal, I'm afraid no one but Lord Enma knows that, Kyouya." Tsuzuki spoke evenly, not at all worried about the familiarity with which he used his name. "However, as a novice shadow user, only your master can remove it for good. I guess you were the 'mouthy brat' Tatsumi was muttering about when he was watering his plants." He grinned, eyes laughing. "What the hell did you say to him to set him off?"

"I merely postulated a few things he took offense to. Nothing more." Nodding towards the both of them, Kyouya walked away opening his folder to write some notes. "I have other things to take care of, so please excuse me. Good day, Mr. Kurosaki. Mr. Tsuzuki." He headed towards the library to research more about his ability to see if there was a way to practice control techniques before the clasp came off. It had become painfully obvious and surprisingly difficult to remove the mask of social grace he had spent a lifetime perfecting, but he would not let that cause a humiliating loss by his own shadows.

--

"What a weird kid." The old Shinigami said as he scratched his head after Kyouya left. "Were you able to read anything from him, Hisoka?"

"Like Mr. Tatsumi, I don't sense anything coming from him. It's like a void where there should be a person."

They stood there looking at each other, before Tsuzuki broke his gaze away with a grin.

"Most people don't recognize me on sight. Even Tatsumi was amazed in a disgruntled sorta way." Tsuzuki voiced his thoughts softly.

"I get the impression he's used to a more demanding setting, where he needs to know who's who. Do you know which section he transferred from?"

"Yeah, Tatsumi said the Processing Section."

Hisoka paused, and then asked a question that had bothered him for some time. "Tsuzuki, isn't its true purpose to prepare people for the culture shock of the Ministry's work environment?"

"It's also for people who have time in purgatory to spend, but no office skills. I went there, and so did Tatsumi. And don't pretend you didn't start off there!" Tsuzuki added in a teasing voice. "You can't learn anything about someone who came from that place because it's full of people from all walks of life."

His partner shrugged, keeping his thoughts to himself. "We've got those reports to finish, and I'm not doing yours again. Maybe I should suggest to Chief that you get temporarily transferred?"

Whimpering, Tsuzuki explained that it wasn't his fault that the reports hated him and the ink pens ran out of ink, et cetra. To which Hisoka mentally attributed to his partner's ongoing laziness as he went into the backroom to change out of his workout clothes, Tsuzuki following with a running commentary. The idiot simply wouldn't leave him alone offering daily to change the bandages that wrapped him snuggly like a mummified corspe, but left his fingers and head exposed, but then it was just another of the hundreds of ways his partner worried about him.

TBC.


	4. A sealbreaker's promise

_Preface: I rewrote half of this chapter because it didn't make any sense. I know better than to write when I'm ill. XD Edited for some wonky wording and explanations added. 12/05/07  
_

* * *

Kyouya was not one to idle. However, any minute reference to the shadow ability or to recently dead Shadow Users gave no desirable results other than those he already knew. Leaving the uninformative books in their appropriate 'To be sorted' cart, he bid the birds farewell as he wandered down the hall not sure where he should go from there. There was a sign that read 'Infirmary'. This piqued his interest as he had assumed that the nearly indestructible mini-gods of Death had no need for medical attention, despite Watari's insistence on working as a doctor in their afterlife. The door was ajar and he heard the tail end of a conversation between two familiar voices.

"I'm simply amazed at your ability to heal even from divine ki, Kurosaki."

"Yeah."

"Try to take better care of yourself. We wouldn't want a repeat of Kyoto."

The door opened and the green-eyed teen looked at Kyouya indifferently before heading down the hall.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Ootori?" The silver-haired boy that had sent him on had a smile tingeing his lips with practiced ease and a thin pair of glasses on.

"You don't sound surprised that you would meet me again."

"I don't? I believe you're quite imagining things." The boy walked back to his desk, seating himself on a chair that was far too large for him, dressed in brown slacks and a white jacket whose front pocket held an assortment of pens.

"I apologize. You haven't introduced yourself…?"

"Kazutaka Muraki."

Several things clicked into place for Kyouya, but he only smiled wondering why the room had so many empty beds. Finally, the knowledge in his life was bearing some fruit after death. "Pleased to meet you. So are you their primary doctor?"

"When I'm not busy with my area in Tokyo, yes." Kazutaka jotted something down on a clipboard before flipping the papers back over, working as he spoke. "Your family certainly seems to have prospered."

"Nothing quite as reputable as the Murakis."

"Once were." Kazutaka interjected firmly underlining something with the pen in his hand. Kyouya noted that the boy was showing signs of irritation, but whether it was because of his family's fall from fortune or because of Kyouya's flattery he wasn't quite sure.

"I was under the impression your brother was still alive and active."

The boy frowned. "He decided to pursue a profession in legal affairs. Because of that, your father brilliantly took over the liquidized Muraki properties, monopolizing the market in one swoop, but you should know that." He looked up at the teen with a knowing smile. Muraki apparently kept tabs of his family's past affairs. Kyouya assumed that he had managed that because of the Shinigami's ability to transport themselves across dimension. Kyouya had read quite a bit on it. It was one of the more interesting abilities that spurned him to place a transfer into the Summons Section; Having no contact with the living realm since his awakening in Meifu was enough to seriously ruffle his obsessive compulsion to know everyone's business.

Kyouya adjusted his glasses with one finger, his smile taking on a meaner appearance. "I suppose rumors of your own suicide by sword aren't true?"

"Death by sword, but it was not by my hand I can assure you." Muraki nodded to himself, not further elaborating.

"I see."

"Have you met Tatsumi yet?"

"I have. He's my mentor."

"My condolences." Kazutaka simply stated looking back down at his report to finish penning in remarks into the blank spaces. "I wouldn't force that man on anyone."

Kyouya liked this youth, even knowing Kazutaka had to be in his middle ages by now. "Are you any good at seal-breaking?"

Shifting in his chair, the silver-eyed albino's attention was obviously piqued. "Why? Has your master been too obstinate?"

"If I am able to train without restraint, he would no longer have that title."

A devilish smile curled on young Kazutaka's lips as his eyes narrowed with a shrewdness that expressed a keen business mind behind it. "And what would you exchange to have that freedom?"

The teen paused his writing closing the book, diverting all of his attention to the question. "To be frank, I wouldn't know what would interest you."

A derisive snort was the response he received as Kazutaka crossed his arms in a stern expression. "How unlike the infamous third son of the Ootoris."

Carefully hiding his chagrin at the boy's easy characterization of him, while disseminating that Muraki was well aware of his background, Kyouya asked, "What are you suggesting I offer?"

"An equivalent trade, of course."

"If you remove the seal, you want the freedom I gain from your services." Kyouya restated, ruining Kazutaka's mystique that less intelligent people would find frustrating.

"If you don't object to the trade, obviously you would know who your partner was before the partnership became official." The boy shifted his weight again leaning against the chair's back.

Kyouya knew the system for Shinigami to work on cases was set up so that it was a requirement to work in at least pairs, unless you were assigned to the Kinki or Okinawa sectors. Pairing an experienced member with an inexperienced one seemed to be the sole method of knowledge transferal in the Ministry, an archaic one dating back to the era of apprenticeship.

"I assure you our partnership won't be restricted as I imagine tutelage under Tatsumi is, and I will not mock your physical prowess or mental faculties while we are partnered, excepting of course that you do something to deserve it."

"In return, you would gain a dependable partner?"

He smiled. "It used to be entertaining to watch personality flaws destroy the 'indestructible' Shinigami. However, you wouldn't believe how tiring it is to fill out numerous forms when your partner dies from their own ineptitude."

"Of course, this transaction hinges on your ability to break it within a day."

The silver-haired boy was suddenly in his space the top of his head barely reaching his shoulder as a hand reached forth towards the earring and hovered there. Kyouya hadn't seen him move and had restrained the urge to pull away. "Do not doubt that I will not uphold my part of the bargain as long as you maintain yours, Ootori."

"It's agreed then." Kyouya banished the nervousness that had welled up. Kazutaka Muraki had an unnatural grace and coloring that hinted at inhuman descent, but that was only secondary to the small, but very important detail that he had agreed when he knew very little about the boy Muraki, something that went against his core values. A master of the game had masterfully cornered him into this situation, but somehow Kyouya liked the challenge it posed.

After a few moments of standing under the harsh fluorescent lighting, Kazutaka dropped his hand asking him of details of how the shadow master attached and removed the seal, which Kyouya supplied objectively. A small frown settled on the pale boy's features, as he looked thoughtful, while Kyouya merely stood there taking notes.

"Come with me." The boy turned, but when Kyouya didn't initiate contact, he let out a small sigh. "Touch me."

"Why?" Kyouya adjusted his glasses amused at his bossiness.

"So I can direct where we teleport. Unless you know where my residence is?"

The teen barely touched his back and had the disoriented feeling of being displaced somewhere he was not expecting, looking around at the tastefully decorated foyer.

Wordlessly Kazutaka walked across the tiled floor and flicked on several lights moving to an immense bookcase, pulling a slender book from the shelf and turning it. The pages were still white, and, on closer inspection, there was immaculate handwriting and drawings decorating the pages. The notebook was flipped shut. The boy went to the clean green chalkboard standing next to the bookcase and quickly sketched out several dual-circular diagrams with runes and other gibberish symbols on it, erasing and redrawing. Not understanding what magic the diagram was but realizing how dangerous the magic the boy was about to perform was when he was practicing so diligently, Kyouya made no effort to duplicate it in his notes, instead peering at the glass case where a collection of at least a dozen antique European dolls gazed out with chilling blank stares.

Hearing the quick clacking of chalk cease, Kyouya turned his attention back to him. The tall handle of the paintbrush was comparable to that of a small broom as Kazutaka dipped it into a bucket of dark paint, and quickly transferring the ink-like substance to the floor redipping in between closed circuits of lines. Master calligraphers would have wept at the beauty and fluidity with which the boy ably moved the paintbrush. Once the dual-circle was formed a final outer circle with a thick band of Buddhist mantras was drawn.

"Ootori, stand there." He pointed at the larger circle in the connected Venn Diagram and continued, " Once I begin, you must not speak and you must remain in your circle. Understand?"

The teen nodded, standing where he had been directed, leaving his notebook on the plush two-seater couch next to the doll case.

With a flick of his hands, Muraki clasped them and began his chant eyes half-lidded and staring through Kyouya. The room faded from view as if a blanket had been thrown over them as the outer circle brightly lit up. Dropping his hands, Muraki continued chanting and the inner circle around him began to glow which seeped into the runes interlaced against it and into the outer circle that connected to Kyouya's circle. Tatsumi's figure appeared before him looking as accurate and real as Kyouya remembered that morning. His voice continued chanting lightly as shadows swirled around them, the runes around Kyouya's inner circle seemed to gain heat with its light. It occurred to Kyouya a little late that the process might hurt as his inner circle lassoed against his feet sending a jolt of what felt like electricity through him. The lines that had made up the runes and circle slithered up his legs holding him in place as he convulsed from the raw power streaking painfully through him his throat constricting before his lungs had a chance to scream.

Tatsumi's hand raised up with a sadistic smile. "Remove it."

Kyouya didn't feel the clasp fall from his ear and return to the awaiting hand. However, the shadows rushed to him unconsciously summoned to buffer him from the coursing power, and he was next aware that he was laying on the ground on a bed of shadows outside of the dome of blackness which suddenly fell back revealing a pleasantly smiling Muraki, holding out an object covered in fuda paper. "I believe this is yours, shadow user."

An irate glare was aimed at him.

* * *

"Good morning, Kurosaki."

Hisoka visibly started, stopping the mid-swing attack towards the speaker. Kyouya adjusted his glasses, smiling. "Since Kyushu hasn't given you another case yet, shall we duel?"

"Ah… Sure." Hisoka didn't think shadows had enough form to deflect, but he nodded anyway taking a defensive stance with his wooden practice katana. "Ready when you are."

Shadows coalesced like strange lumps of oil rising in water behind the black-haired teen. "Attack me."

The wooden bokken swung diagonally for his shoulder, but instead of contacting flesh, Hisoka's weapon dispersed shadow and Kyouya was standing several meters away smirking in satisfaction. Lunging forward to attack the real one, Hisoka sensed something near him and roll-dodged out of the way of a swooping block of shadow, right into an oncoming stream of shadow which he experimentally parried and deflected causing it to part before him like mist.

However, it reformed and flowed around him. Raising a magic charm, Hisoka's magic had no effect on the shadow, and he found himself encased in it. He lowered his sword. "I won't be able to win in a realm controlled by you."

The shadows dissolved and he was released with a visibly tired Kyouya standing nearby. "Let's call it a draw for today. I overextended myself."

Kurosaki shrugged, stretching as his turned to the doorway just as Tsuzuki walked in with a bright smile. "Hey Hisoka let's go eat lunch—Oh hi, Kyouya! Are you hungry? You can come eat lunch with us—"

"I'll decline." Shadows welled up in agitation when Tsuzuki invited him along, but Kyouya made no move to suppress his emotions.

Tsuzuki's characteristic smile fell to the wayside as he became concerned. "When did—"

"Please excuse me." Kyouya interrupted him jarring Tsuzuki to blink at him dumbly projecting his voice. "When did Tatsumi remove your— ah, he left." Tsuzuki scratched his head. "Man, kids these days have no respect."

Hisoka snorted.

Tsuzuki noticed bandages flapping as Hisoka moved into his cool down stretches. "Were you two sparring?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. Be careful. You don't want to reopen wounds."

"I'm fine, idiot." Sliding the wooden sword into a cloth sleeve, Hisoka padded across the room to the changing room.

"May I help—"

"No."

"But—"

"I can dress myself."

Tsuzuki whined holding onto the sword Hisoka tossed to him, but when his partner disappeared from view, he spaced out. It was far too soon for having Kyouya's restraints off, and there was no way Tatsumi would have agreed to remove it. Besides himself, Tsuzuki didn't know anyone powerful enough to remove one of Enma's minor seals. It troubled him.

* * *

By the trial run that morning, Kyouya faced the unpleasant thought that his stamina and energy levels would cause him to lose the fight with Tatsumi. He ate ravenously and meditated thoughtfully on his plan of action. If he could perhaps take Tatsumi by surprise and end the fight quickly, he might be able to win.

He rolled the paper-covered clip in his pocket when an idea struck him. His lips quirked. There was one possible avenue to victory, but it would take more cunning to pull it off, considering that the man would be on guard for any wily manipulations Kyouya played.

When twilight began Kyouya stepped some distance away from the Ministry in the back area, the tables empty of occupants. Only a minimal amount of personnel would be operating the Ministry. The cusp of a half moon hung directly overhead dimly illuminated the field he stood in.

"Good evening, Ootori."

"Good evening, Tatsumi." Kyouya deliberately left the honorative off, which had the effect he was looking for as Tatsumi paused.

The man cleared his throat. "The match will last precisely two hours. If no victor is determined immediately, a brief contest of wills over shadow ownership will determine the victor. Do you understand?"

"Yes. If you would remove the seal…?"

Tatsumi raised his hand to utter the phrase to remove the jewelry affixed to Kyouya's ear, but was suddenly slammed by shadows owned by said teen. He hit the ground glasses flying off his face. Kyouya walked triumphantly towards Tatsumi's prone form, staying a meter back for buffer space, but the form disappeared as the shadows collapsed, and Kyouya found himself bound in place by shadow.

"I commend your tactics, since I would have lost effortlessly if Tsuzuki hadn't told me what he had seen. Now, who removed the seal without my authority?"

Kyouya merely smiled. "I've heard stories of your mother's weakness for despairing over the littlest things. She was a rather weak woman that selfishly forced you to take care of her, isn't that right?"

His master restrained the fury overtaking his features, but he felt the shadow binding tighten on his joints almost unbearably. "You are not allowed to disrespect her."

"Some people are attracted to attributes found in their parents. Is that the attraction you find towards Tsuzuki?"

The shadows tightened grinding bones together and melted over his frame. "Breaking Lord Enma's seal is a felony in the land of the dead. If you do not tell me who did it, the blame will fall on you."

Instead of talking about how he wasn't bothered by the 'punishments' of privilege restriction, Kyouya stated, "I cannot escape Lord Enma's grasp, like you, yet unlike you I do not enjoy being enslaved."

Tatsumi stared at him distracted from the interrogation his shadows loosening. "I merely use my position to my advantage."

"Like creating a retirement fund for Tsuzuki?"

"He is not the only one." He calmly adjusted his glasses as he tried not to sigh in irritation at the psychoanalytic direction that the conversation had taken. "Ootori, why do you persist in presenting evidence of a relationship that ended well before you were born?"

"Information is power. To be honest, I was bored." Kyouya smirked. "Will charges of the felony be dropped?"

At the sudden revisit of his topic, Tatsumi stiffened. "One has to charge someone with proof of misconduct to bring about Enma's punishment, but because the only evidence I have is your sudden absence of the earring it would be pointless to bring attention to it. I will find out who broke the seal on my own." With a dismissive gesture, he released the shadows. "I've won but you have shown enough control for me to consider permanently breaking the seal since you've obviously had it under control for at least a half day."

"I expect an apology is due?"

Adjusting his glasses, Tatsumi frowned at the teen.

Kyouya bowed. "I apologize for disrespecting you, but you started the disrespect first."

"I apologize I lost my temper. However."

"However?"

"It would behoove you never to mention my mother to my face again."

Knowing the shadow master had become full of rage at his insinuations since the shadows would have effectively snapped his bones if Tatsumi had not restrained them, Kyouya nodded.

"Good. Would you like to join me for some tea?"

"If it isn't too much trouble." Kyouya's lips pulled into an amused quirk at the change to a more benign subject as he followed his soon-to-be former mentor back into the Ministry.

They sat in silence as Tatsumi scanned over some forms, sipping his tea every once in awhile, while Kyouya compiled his notes and added to them.

The door slammed open and a breathless girl in an old-fashioned brown commoner high school uniform rushed in, pink ribbons adorning her long hair as panicked amber-orange eyes brushed over Kyouya's presence to settle on Tatsumi. Terazuma stood outside the office like a stony sentinel. She must be his partner, Kyouya noted.

"Mr. Tatsumi! The Imaginary World is falling apart!"

TBC.


	5. Partnership of games

_Preface: We are traveling into more of the AU-verse. Please enjoy your flight. Also, please refrain from squeals of 'Kyouya and Muraki: OTP'. _

_The PLOT Appears!  
_

* * *

The Imaginary World was a place that existed on the Internet, data flowing endlessly around it. It used to be a dimension like Meifu, the dimension of Enma and his cohorts, except that the Imaginary World had buffered Meifu from the real world. Some time ago, human innovation and the development of science overtook superstition and the dimension collapsed. Luckily, the mythical creatures of the Imaginary World, the Shikigami, had copied their data and replicated their environment in an electronic environment, saving themselves from imminent destruction. These Shikigami when contracted were useful allies to the agents of the Summons Section.

The mismatch-eyed girl was breathless and had a frantic air about her as Tatsumi gave her the utmost attention, though calm. "What has the Blue Dragon decreed about the matter?"

"They've done as much as they can but entire portions of their realm are disappearing and the wormholes are worsening!"

"I will speak with Chief Konoe, Miss Kannuki. If you would please excuse me Ootori."

Not knowing much of the Shikigami's world beyond its origins and key Shinigami who could call forth or harbor Shikigami, Kyouya listened to their conversation jotting down important details and nodded. "Thank you for the tea."

Tatsumi left in haste with the girl trailing along, but before her partner could leave as well the teen had stepped in his way folder still open. "Excuse me. I'm afraid I haven't caught your name since we met previously under duress." It was a lie, but an easy one to start a conversation.

The peculiarly marked man quirked a grin at the use of 'duress'. He glanced at the folder, reminded of an officer taking statements at a crime scene. He was more amused than irritated by it. "Hajime Terazuma. You're the Ootori kid right? It's nice to meet ya."

"I'd like to make a query if it wouldn't trouble you."

Terazuma held an unlit cigarette in between his fingers. "Don't got to be so polite with me."

"It's of a rather personal nature." Kyouya's eyes flicked towards the markings on his face, pointy ears, and the slitted golden eyes. He knew a parasitic Shikigami caused it, but such generalizations without true understanding would not easily satisfy his curiosity.

"Ah, that." His voice became gruff but apathetic. "If you're looking for a summons, don't get a Parasitic type or they'll take over your life. They don't listen to orders and can cause body deformations if the contract don't take."

Kyouya spoke as he wrote furiously. "Thanks for the warning, but as a shadow user I'm not compatible with Shikigami and am banned entry into the Imaginary World."

"Huh. I'll keep that in mind. Just thought that it was stupid getting a summons when Shade Magic is damn strong enough as it is. You know it even resists Touda's hellfire? The stuff that can kill us on contact?"

"I was not aware of that, no."

"Nothing can beat Shade Magic, except for the lack of shadows. I can't imagine something like that happening a lot." He lit up his cigarette despite being indoors and smoked. "Hell I'd bet that you could kick that damn Tsuzuki's ass if you wanted to."

"You seem to have a low opinion of him." The man was pouring out interesting information. Kyouya wondered how long his interest would last as he confirmed their rivalry. Hearsay had given Kyouya the epic story of Terazuma and Tsuzuki's contempt towards each other, but to witness their rivalry or to record their opinions of the other was important for predicting reactions in lieu of any future string-pulling. Rivalries were among some of the most unpredictable of relationships. His own 'rival' Kuze, Captain of the American Football Club, had an entirely one-sided enmity from a comment he had made in elementary school.

"Are you one of those Tsuzuki-camp freaks?" There was a vein popping out on his forehead as his teeth clamped down on the cigarette in his mouth. Whether it was Terazuma or Tsuzuki who were more pliable because of their distaste for each other, it would be determined with observed behavior over time.

Kyouya chuckled. "He does have many irritating qualities about him, doesn't he?"

"Heh." He took a long drag from the cigarette. "I think I like you Ootori, and it's a plus that you ain't girly like that Kurosaki-brat." Terazuma grinned down at the teen obviously without any intended euphemism in his speech.

"He's only aggravating near sweets." An even voice determined behind Terazuma.

The poor man looked like he would spontaneously break out into hives if said person stood any closer to him though they already had a plenty of space between them. Either Kurosaki was hiding some unknown power or had some dirt on Terazuma. "H-hi Kurosaki."

Stepping some to his right, Kyouya smiled at the strawberry blond. "Hello, Kurosaki." He received a nod as a reply.

"I had sensed that something was worrying Wakaba and came to check it out."

The pointy-eared man huffed at him, taking another heavy breath from his cigarette and removing it from his mouth. "Those damn wormholes have gotten worse. Apparently whole chunks of territory have gone missing. I heard it's even gotten those unflappable Tenguu gate-keepers worried since their home, Mount Kurama, disappeared and with it hundreds of their kind."

There was an uncomfortable pause as Kurosaki shifted his feet. "Has it? I'll let Tsuzuki know about it immediately." His tone remained the same but there was a different air about him in posture and the way he walked. Observing the minutia was Kyouya's strong point, and he was very sure to include it in his notes.

"You do that." Easily holding the cigarette between his lips, he lightly saluted Kyouya then pocketed his hands. "I gotta check on what our Bureau intends to do. See ya, Ootori."

"Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Terazuma." After that cursory farewell, Kyouya looked in the opposite direction that Kurosaki had left curious. Apparently the Imaginary World's political climate was far more complex and important to the Summons Section than he had assumed. It would take some research to corroborate that it was not simply because of Tsuzuki's hold on twelve of the highest level of Shikigami.

In the meantime, he would complete the paperwork Tatsumi had handed to him to finalize. It would seem he would be assigned a section and given a partner. Absently, he filled out Muraki's name in the optional field of first choice.

--

As Sohryuu, the Blue Dragon, stormed around and ultimately found that he was powerless as one of the four cardinal guardians to stop the inevitable collapse of what became their second home, a small golden peacock perched on the edge of the main garden's water fountain. The garden was filled with an assortment of refugee Shikigami as all that remained of their realm was quickly shrinking around the palace Shikigami, Tenkuu. Day by day the forests and rivers disappeared. They could see the horizon of emptiness closing in on them from beyond Tenkuu's walls.

Only the tall form, wrapped in tight black leather with a metal band around his head holding a tinted visor in place, noticed the peculiar creature that seemed to be waiting with infinite patience, but then Touda wasn't worried like his fellow Shikigami over the apparent apocalypse occurring to their Imaginary World.

If he perished, the only person he was concerned with was his Master Tsuzuki, but he knew just as well that Tsuzuki could manage alone if the need occurred. Touda had been contracted with him for nearly three score, but not because the man needed his hellish power. He eyed the peacock as it suddenly spread its illustrious tail out like an ornate fan and stood up straight, chest puffed out.

"Citizens of the Imaginary World." The peacock gorbled suddenly. "Please do not panic. I have begun transferring your data to a more secure location as the Internet is no longer such and the wormholes grow fiercely worse. Bring me to the Blue Dragon and I, Kin-U, will explain the rest." The refugees froze at the sound of that name. Many of them fled, while others bowed rooted to the spot. "Th-the Golden Emperor has returned!"

Touda landed lightly next to the 'Gold Bird', offering an arm. The peacock hopped once onto it and landed on his shoulder letting its gossamer golden tail relax, which almost touched the ground as he stood up. "You're the Dancing Serpent, aren't you?"

He said nothing heading towards the control room as refugees followed closely behind. Whatever this dainty bird was, it could not be the Golden Emperor who had betrayed him to the dark dungeons deep within Tenkuu. He had been told that he had mistaken Tsuzuki for that faceless entity, for that Golden Emperor that nobody could concretely observe, when Kurikara RyuOh had broken his power restraint. With the visor shattered, he had been told, that he had acted outraged and lashed out at his Master confusing him with his previous one. From that fiasco, he knew that the visor was far more multi-functional than a simple interface to the Imaginary World's mainframe and a power restraint. The damnable thing blocked memory, too. He never agreed to shackle his mind when he entered the contract with his Master to free himself from Tenkuu's dungeons, and didn't think his Master knew of its hidden function. The great Sohryuu was never forthcoming of things Tsuzuki would react negatively to.

What mattered in the time being, was that Kin-U's power did not match his Master's. It was perhaps the most telling evidence of why the bird could not be the Golden Emperor. In order to be his Master, a being had to be exceptionally strong, and the golden peacock didn't fit the bill. However, he would not easily make a decision based on one fact alone, and so he would observe and do nothing more because he never did anything more than what his Master bid of him.

As he passed into Tenkuu's inner sanctum where the many generals of the Imaginary World had gather, the stragglers behind him were permitted no farther. Kneeling and feeling the bird hop daintily and elegantly off of his shoulder, he expected that his Master was on his way in this time of crisis with the Priestesses of the Four Gates and his brat of a partner.

Touda's inner smile of amusement had nothing to do with the reactions of the fools in power towards the Gold Bird's statement. Only balance would keep their world together in a harmony that Chaos could not destroy.

--

"Ootori." A voice whispered in an alto pitch, too high to truly be sultry.

"Good afternoon Muraki." Nonplussed by the otherwise close proximity of the strange-colored boy, Kyouya greeted him with a smile taking the distraction as a moment to relax his eyes from reading and his hand from writing.

Pale lips flattened into an annoyed line. "You don't frighten easily."

"Is there something you needed?" The teen allowed a small frown of irritation on his lips at the paper Kazutaka held up.

"You're my new partner."

"Were you expecting anything different?" If he had been disturbed from his work for only that, he was going to loathe working with him.

"No, I thought you might like to know that we've received a new case about a cursed object we need to destroy and a girl's soul we are to retrieve."

"Tell me more." Closing the book, Kyouya gave him his full attention.

"Have you heard of chain diaries?"

When Kyouya only tilted his head in curiosity at the term, the boy continued. "Often the past-time of elementary or middle schoolchildren, usually among girls, they pass around a notebook writing things down anonymously. Dreams or aspirations and sometimes their thoughts on a particular student within the school are what they consider proper material. Apparently, a girl, Hina Kamishiro, brought the cursed book from Germany back to Japan to use in this fashion. Her soul hasn't arrived though her name has been written in the Death Record."

It was the girl that Shirou Takaouji had stumbled into the Host Club for. Her father's job as an ambassador had her frequently in Germany to visit him. If the date on his stock options had been correct Takaouji's abrupt entrance had happened a little over half year ago. Kyouya's seniors would be nearing their graduation soon in the couple of months left of school. "I see."

"We may have to take the girl's body off of life support as well if it's in a vegetative state." The silver-hared boy waved negligently. "Sometimes the soul separates from the body but medicine keeps it alive even without the important kernel of life within it."

"So we have to kill the body before we can bring the soul in? Why not simply let the soul return to the body?"

"It's standard procedure, really. Like I said, her name is already on the Death Record. She's 'dead' and we are afforded the Summons to assist with her transition. You're not going to sabotage the job like Tsuzuki does on a regular basis, are you?" His smile had a thin veil of predator within it. "I'm sure you've heard that I'm not sympathetic towards bleeding heart personalities." He was alluding to his hand in the events that had led up to the 'fated Kyoto disaster' that was whispered about even in the lowly Processing Section, but Kyouya could prod no one to explain beyond the tightlipped outcome of 'how Tsuzuki and Hisoka became partnered'. He had ascertained that it had happened a few years ago though he wouldn't know the exact details, unless Muraki were to enlighten him to the grisly circumstances.

"Is there a handbook I can reference?" Kyouya did not hesitate in the slightest, knowing the two people who had created the worst partnership in the history of Meifu.

A very worn book was placed on the table. "Here you can have mine. Takamine certainly doesn't need it anymore."

Closing and pushing the informational texts of the Imaginary World aside, he took the great tome and opened it. Flipping through it, he frowned before closing it and sliding it back to Kazutaka. "Where's the real copy?"

The boy smiled ear to ear. "In order to read it you have to dispel the magic I placed on it."

Kyouya glanced at the book. "I could just as easily borrow the handbook from another Shinigami."

Pushing his glasses further up his nose, Muraki continued smiling. "But then you would lose the valuable lesson being learned here. What good are you to me if you cannot even defend yourself when your shadows fail you?"

"A valid point."

"Now, I would have recommended Tsuzuki to train you in the basic techniques… but you know well that he's departed for the Imaginary World." The smile curled sinisterly on his lips. "So I have taken this task into my own hands. You should be grateful."

"And what of our case?" Kyouya did not show signs of being bothered by this task his partner posed. In fact, he seemed quite amused.

Kazutaka scowled since his scaring tactics had failed as he turned away crossing his arms. "The information we've gotten says that it may contain a plethora of souls that need to be freed. As for its current location, it was last seen in the Elementary section of Ouran Private Academy."

A sickening crunch sounded as the teen snapped his mechanical pencil in half. The shadows flared off the walls agitated by their master's deliberately covered shock. He had assumed foolishly that the girl had recently arrived from Germany and gotten sucked in the moment she began writing, not that she brought it to school to share with others. Muraki had said chain diaries were an 'anonymous' public affair. He mused cynically over how many familiar souls had been trapped before the Ministry acted. His shadows quieted when he gritted his teeth and laid the bits of his pencil on the table. He evened his breathing and cleared his mind.

"Ah, yes. You went to school there. I suppose that means you won't be actively participating with the other students. However, feel free to assist me in Spirit Form. Your knowledge of the prestigious pupils would be greatly beneficial to our work."

Imagining how easy the diary could be passed from the Elementary section on up to the High School section, Kyouya was disturbed at how effortless it would have been for the Host Club to pick it up had they not been dissolved after his death.

"_How wonderful! A notebook full of hopes and unrequited loves to be passed throughout the school!! Let us continue this commoner tradition to the fullest!"_

"_But milord, don't you have your own unrequited love to spell out in it?"_

"_Haruhi is my daughter you unscrupulous twins!!"_

"_Like I said, over and over again. You aren't my father."_

"_Haruhiiiiiiiiii…"_

"Ootori?" Faint concern colored Muraki's tone at Kyouya's slip into a ridiculous excursion into an imagined scenario. It was foolish to miss those he could not meet again and knowing the truth did nothing to sway the small ache nestled in his chest.

As he willed his shadows into calmness, Kyouya slipped his hand over the cover of the hand-me-down book. "I won't play this game with you if you endanger my colleagues."

"I give you no guarantee that I would aid you if one of them were to be drawn in by the curse." It was a firm but careful agreement that Muraki would not stand in his way.

"I would not ask you to help if that situation arises."

"How reckless. Keep in mind that quite a bit of money will be deducted from your paycheck for failing to send the souls on," Kazutaka smirked, "but you would already know that if you could dispel the barrier I've placed on the book."

Pleased with the deliberate change in subject, the teen smiled, adjusting his glasses. "I appreciate the hint." With a flourish of his hand over the book, he murmured the words to deactivate a barrier, and it crumbled shattering the illusion of an old book. Audacious black script flowed over the front cover of the small gray book, entitling it _The Beginner Shinigami's Handbook of the Judgment Bureau: the rules and regulations specific to this bureau and addendum policies decreed by Lord Enma's sovereignty_. The title lent to the notion of the bloated ego that the average beginner probably had.

"Congratulations. If you can dispel that I suppose you could also set in place a barrier."

He stifled a sigh, but his shadows barely twitched. "You could have asked me, instead of wasting our time."

"And what fun would that be, Kyouya?"

He did sigh lightly this time. His partner was using his first name in such an offhanded, personal way. Recognizing the attempt to stoke his anger, Kyouya was unimpressed at such childishness. He had been desensitized from such acts by a close friendship of three years. He stood up, handbook and folder underhand and leaving the shattered pencil. "I know Ouran Private Academy intimately, so it would be best if I teleport us there if we are to start this case."

Giving up that jab from Kyouya's non-reaction, Muraki waved a hand dismissively. "Very well. Let's go."

His partner touched his arm, and immediately Kyouya thought of the hallway outside of Elementary section's Music Room. They were suddenly there, where children were currently chatting away. Predictably, one dejected brown-haired blue-eyed boy sat staring listlessly out of the window.

"Shirou Takaouji is the boy you must befriend. He had a crush on our target less than a year ago."

"Hm. I suppose he's the one brooding on the window sill."

"You are correct."

"First order of business is to arrange for a transfer, and then order a uniform. Here's my cell." Muraki grinned as he handed the outdated thing over.

Kyouya looked at it briefly, and then looked down at him. "What is your alias?"

"It would be best if I am foreign-born because of my coloring. I do know a great deal of English, so from either the US or UK would do nicely."

"You are aware they have different accents and figurative language?"

"Of course. I'm better suited as a Briton because of my refined nature."

"Your personality is too flamboyant and loose."

"Fine. I'm an American named, Kyle Smith, whose family is in possession of the largest production firm of sophisticated medical technology. Do I have your approval, Ootori?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, the black-haired teen looked down at his diminutive size. "How much money do we have allocated to this case?"

"40, 000 yen."

"I suppose we could get a rental uniform for that much…"

"No. We aren't squandering that on a rental. The allotted money is mainly for food and a hotel room."

Kyouya adjusted his glasses unable to keep the grin from his face. "It's going to cost money to keep up the façade. We don't need to use that money, since I can provide that."

"Your terms?"

"Oh I expect you to pay me back a small amount per paycheck received, plus interest."

"You're out of your mind."

The teen smiled as the bell rang to announce that club activities were over. "I suppose I'll release her soul and, after she wakes from her coma, we'll both receive small paychecks in comparison to a job well-done."

"How much money is needed for the charade?"

"No less than 300, 000 yen."

"I leave this case for dead then. I have more to lose than to gain." Muraki shrugged his shoulders.

"Since the money is non-negotiable then perhaps we should negotiate our terms of contract?" It would benefit them both, so Kyouya knew that his partner couldn't say no.

He laughed in pleasure. "Do you want me to play an obedient submissive?"

"Hardly. I find your pathetic come-ons entertaining in the sense that it demonstrates how far you've fallen since your death, Muraki. To see one such as yourself degrade over time through such undignified tactics speaks of how wrong people were to mourn your death."

Anger flared from Kazutaka's expression and his voice was flat, suddenly cold and devoid of the playful charm it had just seconds ago. "What are your terms."

If his terms were agreed to, Kyouya would finally gain a win in the game of stalemates they had played since he had asked him to remove the seal. "We are not on first-name basis; we are business partners. We will approach this case under my direction because I am most familiar with the students and their multitude of connections with one another. In order to gain trust within Ouran Academy and not be treated as an outsider, one would have to make the best use of these connections and exploit them undetected."

They stared at each other, willing the other to bend.

"Very well."

Kyouya's smirk of triumph erupted suddenly on his face as Kazutaka continued. "A man with an eye on his own interests is a man after my heart, Mr. Ootori." A wry smile twisted cruelly in reply on Muraki's face as he splayed his hands out. "I am at your mercy for now."

It was exactly where Kyouya wanted him, though he knew once the case was over his partner's pride would only double his attempt at dominating their relationship.

Kyouya loved challenges, but he found Muraki thrived on them.

To crack his shell wide open would be more than enough of a challenge for the middle-aged boy to delight in.

TBC.


	6. Chain diary

_Preface: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter was hard to write. I didn't realize how difficult Shirou's character would be for me! A couple of OHSHC characters make an appearance! Please review. I love constructive feedback! As always enjoy!  
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"Takaouji, would you mind eating lunch with me?"

He rolled his eyes towards the new transfer student from the United States who smelled faintly of tobacco. "If you don't leave me alone, I'll tell the teachers that you smoke." He looked back at the window. His grades had slipped badly, but he didn't care even when his parents had fussed over something so small. It was like they didn't even care that Hina's parents had said she might never wake up again.

"That girl."

"Hina Kamishiro."

"Yes. Pity about her condition, don't you agree?"

Obviously Americans didn't give a damn about tact, which suited Shirou just fine. The transfer student creeped him out. "It's none of your business. You don't even know her, homo."

"I'm merely concerned with your constitution."

"You know, your Japanese teacher sucks. You talk like an old guy."

Muraki had to choke the desire to reach for his cigarettes in the pocket of the uniform shorts, but he had left them with Ootori when he had asked for them point blank. However despite the flawlessness in which his partner had constructed his background, he had not been warned of the little boy's sharp eyes and nose or his unrestrained tongue. "That may be, but I do speak fluently."

"So what? I know three languages."

"Oh? Would the third language happen to be German?"

He frowned tiring of the game. "Shut up."

Muraki chuckled amused at the pathetic woes of a pre-pubescent. "Is little Takaouji in love?"

"You don't know how it feels!!"

"Oh my. Whether or not you're heartbroken doesn't matter to me. I felt sorry for you sitting over here by yourself, _pining_. " The silver-white blonde smiled.

The brunette grabbed the front of his coat. "You!"

Staring him down calmly without the amusement he had worn previously, Muraki sighed. "How could you be so smitten? Does she even love you back?"

Realizing a ruse when he saw one, Shirou let go of him shoving him back. "What do you want? You're here for something aren't you, old guy."

"I collect cursed objects."

Takaouji gave him a blank look. "Good for you."

"There has been one in circulation causing illness, such as fainting or dizziness."

The boy laughed childishly. "Right. So, Hina's cursed, is that it? Are you done, old man?"

Muraki released an irritated noise though there was a tightness to his face that barely concealed his anger. "In the event that the user of this cursed book has it in possession for a long period of time, then it is certain that coma or death would result."

Shirou narrowed his eyes in suspicion, though the glare he shot was filled with suspicion. "It's a chain diary, dummy. It's not cursed. It got confiscated because loads of girls have been passing germs with it and got sick."

The pale boy raised two fingers to his lips absently and curled them to rest on his own cheek thoughtfully. "Then, would you believe that I'm a Shinigami sent to investigate the matter?"

"Yeah right. And your mother is Japanese." But Shirou didn't turn his eyes away to dismiss him, which was completely contrary to his tone.

_I have you._ Dropping his hands to cross his arms, Muraki smirked lightly, knowing that he had the boy's full attention. "She certainly was, with hair as white as pure silk."

"Is your lying contagious? I hope not."

All trace of pleasantness wiped from his face, the transfer student's voice turned positively blasé as if his words were not particularly important. "That girl's soul is trapped in that book. Without it, she will not awake. The longer her soul is separate from her body, the less chance that she has to continue living." He turned away then, facing the door. "But, since I'm lying, I won't trouble you any further, boy."

Shirou's retort stopped before he got much farther than opening his mouth. He swallowed thickly as he felt his face go cold. Hina was going to die?? "Th-the Superintendent has it. He's the one who confiscated it."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't speak of my business to others, Takaouji."

Shirou's grin was grim. "Yeah, got it, Smith." Mimicking Muraki's posture with his arms, he turned back towards the window where he sat on the sill. "I don't have time to spend with a nerd like you anyway."

And the Shinigami walked out without another look to the boy. Waiting until he was by himself, Kazutaka looked to his right, speaking to thin air. "Are you worried?"

Adjusting his glasses, Kyouya flicked his pen. "I used to know the superintendant's son, Suoh Tamaki. He presided over a popular club when I was alive, which I doubt is still in operation."

Kazutaka quirked an eyebrow. "How would you suggest we find Suoh then?"

"Room 3-A. The person in question should be there, since lunch is over for the High School section."

"Lead the way, Ootori." His partner phased into his incorporeal form and gestured forwards with a light flick of his fingers.

Walking steadily, Kyouya had to let his emotions flicker over his face. He had mixed feelings. At worst, Tamaki had refused to go back to school and had been transferred, but he had a feeling that Tamaki wouldn't have left the rest of his 'family' alone.

Luckily enough, when they had stepped through the door, a class was already in session. It was Advanced French Conversation Theatre. The blonde, a little taller now, was reciting a flowery script on one knee a rose in hand offered to a familiar-looking girl with curly long hair, possibly a regular of Tamaki's. While he was a year out of touch, not knowing her name didn't bother him much, even if he felt he should know her.

Kyouya adjusted his glasses with a hint of a smile. "That's him."

"Ah, I didn't expect him to be a womanizer, but if he's the son of the superintendent—"

"I believe you have the wrong impression. While he is an ambitious flirt, there is no material gain expected in his actions. His ideal is to please others."

The rose was taken and the girl gave praise for the flower in her hand. Offering a hand to his conversation partner, Tamaki whined when he was reluctantly rejected. He smiled brightly afterwards and the glasses-wearing girl giggled as they bowed to the class together.

"Very good, Suoh. Jounoji. Please take your seats. Will the next two partners please come to the front to share their piece?" _Ah, her. I see she's decided to stop straightening her hair._

With the attention away from him, Tamaki looked haggard as he sat down staring out the window into the courtyard, somewhat bored and lonely. The two students began their piece as Tamaki looked into his reflection in the glass. Seeing a familiar reflection beside his own, he turned around abruptly standing, and almost knocking his desk over in his haste. "Kyou—ah!" He blinked furiously at the silver-haired delicate-faced boy, wondering how he had mistaken him for Kyouya.

"Suoh, please have a seat." The teacher rapped his pointer on his desk with a warning tone and Tamaki did as he was told. The teacher looked sternly to the young elementary student. "May I help you, young man?"

Muraki smiled. "My apologies. I just transferred here today. Which way is it to the elementary section?"

The former Host King went back to looking out the window, lost in thought.

"Down the corridor and to the left. Follow that hallway all the way to the end and walk the length of the covered walkway to the elementary section."

"Thank you. Sorry for disturbing your class." He bowed his head lightly and walked away.

After some distance into the covered walkway, Muraki stopped, surveying the well-manicured landscape. "Your friend looked tired."

Not so worried about that knowing Tamaki was probably still depressed over his death, Kyouya smirked, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger. "We'll need to corner him."

------

"I've been able to move only small pieces of Gensoukai at a time. I would need the cooperation of the mikos to move such a well-protected shikigami as Tenkuu to the proper location on a server where imagination lies plentiful."

Sohryuu eyed the bird avatar. He knew that it had to be a powerful messenger from the Golden Emperor because the power that he felt was very similar to their savior. "Mikos, do you agree?"

Donned in the colors of Air and Earth, the tall twins representing the East and West gates nodded. "Time is important. We see no need to hesitate." The quiet voice of the one wearing a white and green outfit stated.

The short woman of the North Gate glared daggers at the other two. "I am disinclined to agree so easily." She turned to the golden bird still perched on the stool. "Kin-U, how do we know that you are not lying and leading this world into ruin?"

The bird nodded and a familiar elder appeared.

"Genbu!" Tsuzuki cried happily as his partner stood with his usual dour expression.

Genbu bobbed his head chortling raising up his stick and stamping it on the ground. "I feel better than I have in years! That place is filled with our strength!" Turning towards Sohryuu, the elder chuckled. "You would be a fool to refuse, since this place is going to hell."

Disagreeing no longer, the miko in blue and white hmphed and crossed her arms.

"What about Fuyuu Desert?" The young green-eyed Shinigami asked darkly.

"Since it is no longer in use, we don't need to transport it with us." A dark-haired woman the eyes the color of orange fire stated fiercely.

"Suzaku has made a valid point. If need for that prison arises again, we can develop a new dimension." Rikugo said nonchalantly, draped in his normal robing and his hair pulled back and braided.

"Then it's settled." The golden peacock cocked its head and a large arcane symbol appeared on the ground underneath them. "If the mikos would please take their positions…?"

The mikos did precisely that holding their hands open and out, and reciting the password to open the Gates. At that point everything began to disintegrate around them, as the shikigami winked out of existence.

"Transfer is commencing. Shinigami, I am sending you out from here. Mikos, you will know the new destination as the Gates are tied to you. Denizens of the Imaginary World, I will see you once the download is complete. Good day."

When everything began to turn an empty white, the Shinigami heard a pop and felt themselves tugged out.

"Ahh! Get off!"

"Your elbow's in my side!"

"Take your hand off my butt whoever that is!!"

"I can't breathe."

"Hisoka, I know it's heavy, but hold on!!"

Six people found themselves uncomfortably dog-piled in Watari's lab. The mikos pulled themselves off first.

Wakaba, of the South Gate, offered the chuckling Hisoka water as his partner fretted over his pale appearance. The miko of the Genbu gate patted her crumpled outfit, trying to fluff some order into the wrinkles, while the twin mikos were cooing over 003.

"So you all made it back in one piece." Watari grinned at them in his usual labcoat. "Rough trip?"

"It looks like Gensoukai's location is changing." Tsuzuki stated and frowned.

Staring at the computer screen, the miko wearing blue and white also frowned. "I can't access it."

"Kin-U said the download would take some time, right? I'd wait and see before worrying." Hisoka reached up and touched his bangs, playing with the ends as if mesmerized by the color and softness of his hair.

His partner blinked at Hisoka, tilting his head, then recognition dawned in his eyes. "In the meantime, would you like to go to the bakery with me?"

"Sure." Standing the green-eyed boy followed his partner out. Leaving the four mikos alone with the mad scientist and his pets.

"We'll be in the break room!" The miko of the East gate tugged her sister's hand hurriedly.

"Matsuki, you're not coming?" Wakaba asked promptly, stopping just at the threshold of the door.

The grumpiest of the four crossed her arms, but stood her ground.

"Well, see you!" Seeing her obstinate refusal fairly easily, the miko of the Suzaku Gate exited quickly. Matsuki Izumi was about to discover why…

"Oh, Izumi, it's excellent to see you! I have just the drink for you try!" A smiling Watari so eagerly offered her a non-descript beverage, which she graciously took from him…

------

Clutching a letter in one hand and glancing at his watch in the other, Tamaki headed towards the place where he would invariably break another girl's heart. Ever since he dissolved the Host Club, he had gotten them fairly frequently, though it had dropped off in the past month. Word traveled quickly and with every rejection fewer love letters came. The start of the new school year had seen a large rise in love letters because of the influx of incoming Freshman.

He turned the corner expecting the pastel yellow uniform to come into view. Instead, the green uniform of an elementary male student came into view, but not after the initial shock of nearly silver blond hair. He slowed as he approached the transfer student that had momentarily interrupted his unneeded French class.

"Good evening, Suoh-senior. I am here in place of the girl who sent that, who was too shy to stand her ground."

"And you are…?"

"Kyle Smith." Muraki gave an arrogant dip of his head and a flourish of his hand. "In the Elementary section, class 6-A."

"Ahh." Tamaki let his airs on though it was a mere shadow of what it had been, very few sparkles coming alight in his rather short let-down statement. "Be sure to let sweet Emiri know that while I sincerely appreciate her interest, my heart is already taken."

Unseen, Kyouya stood against the wall frowning at Tamaki's lack of enthusiasm.

Muraki smiled. "Of course, but there is also another matter I have with you, Suoh."

The upperclassman blinked at the younger boy. "Is that so?"

"Well, I have a favor to ask." He continued to smile pleasantly.

Tamaki looked at the boy and felt a chilly sort of nostalgia. "What is it?"

"My dear friend, Hina Kamishiro, is in a comatose state at the hospital if you've heard… and I was thinking that maybe you could help me get something that is hers back for a boy who thinks highly of her." He nudged his glasses up with a finger.

A smidgen of his Host spirit seemed to peek out a little, just a spark really, but Kyouya saw it. "And what is this 'something'?"

"A diary. Her diary, though it was passed around by other girls. I had heard that the Superintendent had removed it from the school." Silver eyes bored into violet-tinged blue ones. Tamaki was the first to look away as his posture stiffened and his eyes became hooded.

Kyouya's friend shook his head with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, but no I can't help you with that. They say it's cursed. I wouldn't want to endanger your friend. If that's all…?"

"No, I apologize for troubling you."

Tamaki waved a hand and continued that pained smile as he walked away. "No, no, it's fine. It never hurts to ask. Please remember to tell Emiri!"

The boy nodded and watched until Tamaki disappeared around a corner. There was another moment of silence before Kazutaka spoke. "That boy is hiding something."

"Tamaki was never very good at lying." Kyouya stated to affirm his partner's suspicion.

"He's displaying the signs, isn't he? He saw you, however briefly." His dimunitive partner narrowed his eyes, raising his hand. "Give me my cigarettes."

Kyouya's lips thinned into a small frown, choosing not to respond, and handed them over. He had a feeling that he would not like whatever Kazutaka was about to tell him, and closed his folder, placing the pen in his front pocket smoothly.

"One, who sees Shinigami, will see Death in the future." Lighting one and pocketing the rest, the youthful-looking Shinigami took a long drag and spoke indifferently as he breathed out the cancerous smoke. "The book is probably in his possession based on how drained he seems. Don't you agree?"

It was a good thing that the black-haired Shinigami had emptied his hands or his grip would have shattered the writing utensil spectacularly.

TBC.


	7. Truth in shadow

_Preface: Here's an update! I think this chapter was tons of fun to write even if it was being difficult. Enjoy._

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Green eyes surveyed the row upon row of pastries sitting on paper-covered trays and quaint signs depicting what each was called. The glass covering the display curved up and was nearly as tall as he was. The attendants were rushing around pulling out various sweets and packaging them for customers, among the cacophony of noise and people's emotions that swirled around them like eddies in a river.

A hand lightly tapped him on the shoulder, and he bent himself to stand looking up into concerned purple eyes. "What?"

"What would you like to try this time?" Tsuzuki leaned over a bit, and pointed at what looked to be a pale yellow cream pie, decorated with elegant lines of chocolate syrup and chocolate chunks artfully placed on it. "The Light Chocolate Cheesecake should be fine or maybe the Raspberry Tart if you're looking for something less rich?"

Hisoka cocked his head grinning. "Cheesecake sounds interesting."

Raising his hand to catch the attention of one of the attendants, Tsuzuki smiled and pointed at the slice of pie on the top shelf and raised two fingers. In less than a minute the small slices of cake were packed and the taller man paid for it, moving in front of Hisoka to disperse the crowd for him.

Outside and farther down the road was the river and Tsuzuki found a bench to sit down on as Hisoka turned his face up towards the sun as the light breeze barely clung at his clothes. "It feels good to be out." Hisoka turned to look at Tsuzuki who was already slowly eating his slice with a fork. "If you eat mine, I'll call Futsu out."

Tsuzuki choked a little as Hisoka sat down next to him fingering the bandages under his long sleeves. "Ahh, it shouldn't be much longer until he's healed…" A quick hand snatched the box from the older man and plucked the slice of cheesecake out with his hands and nibbled on it.

"Kurikaraaaaa, that was mine!"

Licking the crumbs off of his fingers, Hisoka's free right hand scooped up the untouched cake. "Your loss."

"Mm." Purple eyes watched him amused. "If Hisoka comes back with a stomach-ache, he'll be mad at you again.

Hisoka shrugged his shoulders. "I'll tell him you took advantage of his absence." Nearly imperceptively slitted eyes looked at him oddly and then distantly. "Ah. Good luck."

Tsuzuki scooted back a little holding his hands up defensively when a tenseness entered his partner's body language. "Ah-ahh I can explain."

The empath closed his eyes and sighed. "You don't have to." Then bright emerald eyes glared at him in the light of early evening, his hands clutching irritably at the empty paper box in his hands. "Let's go home."

"Alright." Tsuzuki stood up, taking the box from him and dropping it into the nearest trash can, and they disappeared.

------

Dusk was settling in when the two Tokyo Shinigami decided to enter the mansion in spirit form. Kyouya was wary of Shima, the head maid, seeing them and had waited until other duties had pulled her attention away from Tamaki. In the large study, the once-sun-kissed blonde hunched over his schoolwork, writing quickly.

Muraki tsked and shut the door behind him, making several hand-signs and a faint whispering of mantras. His taller, younger partner looked at him curiously.

Hearing the noise of the door closing, Tamaki looked up and his dull eyes stared at them disinterestedly. "Come to visit me again, Kyouya? You shouldn't have. I didn't have tea made for you." A smile pulled strangely on the muscles on his face, raising a wooden hand, that almost-vacant gaze sending unconscious tremors down Kyouya's spine. Kyouya was at a loss as to what to say to his obviously deranged friend.

Noticing that his best friend wasn't responding, Tamaki looked at Kazutaka, his smile lopsiding into a grin. "Oh, Kyle's here too. Of course he can join us, Kyouya. Don't assume I'm so cold, so please have a seat. Shima left me some fresh-cut veggies with dip."

The teen stepped forward, but a firm, small hand suddenly gripped his wrist, and he turned to the pale boy's stern look. "Don't be a fool, Ootori. He will pull you into the curse of that diary."

When Muraki released him, Kyouya's black eyes moved towards where his partner pointed to the plain-looking yellow-paged book in front of his best friend. "How do we stop him?"

"We don't if we value our souls and our paychecks," the dry tone replied evenly. "But don't listen to my pragmatism. If you feel the need, go be a hero." A flippant arm flapped towards Tamaki, who continued to wait with an expression that made farce of true contentment with his void-like gaze. "I will keep the barrier in place, until you return."

"You sound uncharacteristically confident of my abilities."

"Do not misunderstand me, Ootori. I will be able to tell if the diary has completely absorbed your soul and has destroyed it as an unwanted intruder. If you fail, I will complete the mission without you."

However, dark anger ran undercurrent to the boy's words. Kyouya knew it for what it was: a chilling warning. "I understand." Unfortunately, the black-haired teen had made up his mind when he had first embarked into this afterlife servitude. Tamaki would live to an old age, _if_ he was protected from unnatural death.

Muraki leaned against the door silently, when Kyouya stepped forward and took a seat, smiling amicably at his old friend. If the fool wished to save the mortal life of his friend and waste all the effort he had spent on him, so be it. The silver-eyed child merely observed them under an indifferent gaze.

"You look tired, Tamaki." Kyouya commented sitting down across from him.

"I haven't slept well. Honey?" Kyouya raised a curious eyebrow as Tamaki paused and after a moment his face frowned absently. "Oh, what am I doing. You don't even like honey. Here."

An innocent-looking cup of tea was pushed towards him. He picked it up and smelled it lightly before drawing a slow sip of the flavorful drink.

"I've only had green tea, since you've left," he declared quietly, swirling his own honey-laden tea inattentively, "The smell of it brewing reminds me of you. It helps me write about our undying love."

Kyouya choked a little at the emotion-deficient admission. "Tamaki, you need to move o—" Kyouya began.

"I've written a wonderful story about us. Haruhi's become a surrogate for wonderful baby girl." His eyes, clouded like dark blue japer, were fixated on his tea. "I was even chosen as the successor, so though you were cast from your zaibatsu for our deviant love, I was able to—"

The dead Ootori's tongue felt it had lost a lot of moisture from the explanation that was rattled off like a financial report, but he remained calm and unmoved and so too did his shadows. "Tamaki, I'm dead."

His best friend looked up at him and his smile seemed more natural as his eyes filled with honest sadness. "I know." Tamaki sat his cup down inelegantly as he slowly traced a hand over the journal. "That's why I treasure this..." His finger stilled. "Any fantasy I desire can play out in here…"

"It's killing you."

"If I can die happy—" Tamaki's voice was fading away, and before Kyouya could react he was freefalling, faster and faster.

When he was aware of his surroundings again, he was in a quaint room filled with pink and ruffles, looking through slightly different framed glasses. A small hand grabbed onto his knee, and he looked down at an older children's book by the look of its illustrations, towards the familiar girl looking up at him in adoration.

"Daddy, Daddy, what happens next??" Chocolate-brown eyes peered up at him cheerfully, her long thick hair bobbing in pigtails.

Kyouya opened his mouth to speak, but Tamaki burst through the door, scooping the girl up and twirling her around. "Princess Hina, it's time for bed!" He kissed her lightly on her cheek and carried her regally to her overlarge four-poster bed, where shimmery pink satin curtains hung down.

Closing the book, Kyouya stood very disoriented with the memories of a death and an afterlife he had never experienced, watching as Tamaki happily babied a flustered ten year old who looked quite ready to throw her father out.

_Tamaki's too young to be a father._ The sudden thought admonished him, and for a moment Tamaki flickered into his younger self. Kyouya blinked and took off his glasses to inspect them for a moment. He knew something peculiar was happening but he couldn't put his finger on it. Placing them back on his face he saw Tamaki give the very European come-hither gesture to lead them out of the room into a long hallway, closing the door behind them.

"Dear, do you think it's time for us adults to go to bed?" A catty grin flittered on Tamaki's face, before it changed into concern at the frown on his husband's face. "Did something happen?"

Kyouya shook his head. "Our daughter wore me out." Sharp eyes glanced down at his rough hand, and briefly it slimmed and whitened, before it was normal again. He brought his other hand to touch it, a little bemused at himself. If he was hallucinating, then he knew he should be going to a hospital. But ever since he finished reading to his daugh—_ Hina's real parents live in Europe._ His frown deepened. These calm, analytical thoughts certainly sounded like him, but they were puzzling and intrusive and more than a little unsettling.

"Dear?"

He looked up at the worried, questioning gaze and smiled. Suddenly black liquid-like forms sprung up around them, surrounding and coalescing unnaturally. Reflexively, Kyouya grabbed his husband, who squawked in protest at the sudden protective flare that sent him barreling into the taller man's chest. As soon as a frown replaced the smile on Kyouya's face, the upwelling of whatever the hell it was sunk back into shadows that gave birth to them. _I must reveal hidden feelings to maintain control of the shadows._

Flushed and clinging to his chest, Tamaki looked up at Kyouya, who was smiling painfully. "What's wrong?"

Stepping a little to the side and leaving his arm partway wrapped around his shoulders, he gazed into his best friend's eyes, observing sadly as his face became younger as it lost the wrinkles of fatherhood. "Tamaki, I'm sorry, but this dream is over."

"What do you mean? Were you… have you been unfaithful to me?"

Confusion and anger were dangerous things to be staring down with a smile, but Kyouya did exactly that, leaning forward and cupping his face. "No, but none of this is real either."

Before Tamaki could respond, he pulled back and raised a hand, summoning his shadows. When they wrapped happily around his legs as they came and greeted him enthusiastically, the blonde gasped in horror. "Kyouya!! There's—"

"It's fine. Don't worry. This is all an elaborate illusion you've made to hide the truth."

With those cold words so cruelly said, the very fabric of the dimension rippled dangerously.

"No! Kyouya, stop!" A teenaged Tamaki screamed out as the walls around them buckled apart, as his shadows ripped everything apart. The white room that melted into existence under the very real-seeming illusion was glaringly bright, especially near the pools of shadow. Seeing one by his feet, Tamaki stumbled back some. "Mon ami, stay with me!!"

Noticing the abundant lack of doors, vents and windows, Kyouya called his shadows to form a portal to the real world as he ignored his best friend's desperate pleas.

Getting no response, Tamaki ran towards him, grabbing for him but sudden black tentacles wrapped around his legs holding him in place. "Don't leave me!!" He tore at them with his fingers, but they slipped through the alien restraints as if they didn't exist.

"Tamaki." A low aberrant howling had begun to blow through the room, building in volume as the room began to crumble "Save our 'daughter', Hina, by taking her into the shadow." Gesturing to the dark pit in the wall, he turned away and reluctantly shifted out of the room before he heard anymore idiotic pleading.

Looking around frantically, Tamaki's head whipped around as he scanned the disintegrating room for any way to follow him, when a small voice cried out. His heart wrenched at the sound. "Let go of me!!" he yelled at the tendrily things keeping him in place, and they reacted recoiling and then disappearing into the ground. He turned rushing towards the frightened girl with a bewildered look upon her face.

"Tamaki-senior? Wh-where are we?" She held herself, shivering.

Tamaki quickly knelt next to her. "Let's go away from here, Princess, to a place that's safer for you."

Hina nodded, extending arms around Tamaki's neck hugging. "I-I'm scared."

The howling had turned into keening and an invisible wind was pushing at them, away from their only exit. Tamaki cradled her tightly in his arms and sprinted against the wind, jumping head-first into the familiar cold of shadow.

---

As Muraki watched them pass stilted conversation, he sensed Kyouya's imminent dissolution before his form vanished in a brief flash of light, causing the teacup he had been holding to shatter on the ground. Not long after, Suoh slumped forward causing the dishes to slide off the table and crash on the floor. The journal was still open and pushed free of any limbs. Walking closer in a careful manner to better look, he saw that the body, despite its tenuous hold on a shred of what it was meant to house, was devoid of soul.

He contemplated sealing the journal for a few minutes before sparks flickered over the golden haze that had settled over the soul-sucking book. Muraki took several suspicious steps back. Suddenly two spirits flew out from a vortex of shadow.

Muraki adjusted his glasses and smirking. "Suoh, I suggest you go back to your body."

"My…" Suoh squeaked looking at himself, and clutching onto the girl tighter. "I'm a g-g-g-ghost?!?!" Then looked down at Hina, and recognition dawned. "Hey, if I'm holding you—" He gasped setting her down. "We're both ghosts!!"

"As amused as I am at the slow logic that your brain works, it pains me to say that you aren't ghosts, _yet_, and if you wish for that status to remain then I suggest very strongly you return to your bodies before I decide to carry you to Enma's judgement."

Shrieking, Tamaki lunged into his body, but he didn't wake as the body slumped further against the table.

Ignoring the ridiculous antics of a grossly naïve boy, Muraki bowed towards the girl-spirit left behind. "Ah, I believe we haven't been introduced, Lady Hina Kamishiro. My name is Kazutaka Muraki, a servant of Lord Enma."

Large brown, innocent eyes stared at him in awe, and curtsied. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"How adorable. However, I will have to deliver you to your body after my wayward partner arrives. Now if you would please stand over here. That's a good girl." He smiled and then stepped up next to Suoh. Raising both arms, he deliberately shoved him onto the floor out of direct harm's way. He then made several hand movements, quickly reciting several customized sutras to encase the volatile state of the diary.

He finished it as well as he could, and when he was checking his handiwork he heard the child greeting someone else. Muraki turned an inquisitive eye towards her and saw that the room was filling with spirits, all female, of various ages, some of them in century-old dress.

He supposed he couldn't be so angry at his reckless partner, now that bonuses would most certainly show on their paychecks.

However, it would be imprudent to show his attachment to his cunning, eloquent partner, and give him the wrong impression. He had barely known him a week, and yet they understood each other unlike any other partnership the middle-aged child Shinigami had experienced before. It wasn't love, but a symbiotic engagement that thrilled Muraki's predatory nature.

And it was that predatory nature that was currently wondering whether he should go ahead and seal the cursed artifact since its power was straining to overcome the localized barrier he had set upon it.

Especially since with his fond friend rescued, it was unlikely after coming so far that Ootori would die so easily.

TBC.


	8. A Protected Flower

_Preface: I know this is short and I know I haven't updated this in a loooong while. Please forgive me. I'm hoping to get this fic by the end of summer! I finally see where this is going, so enjoy!_

* * *

Kyouya could tell that whatever inhabited the diary was furious. The howling remained as an irritating reminder of that.

Whether it was luck or not, his shadows pointed to the next exit, and hopefully his last one after so many different rooms of so many lovely women in period dress from all over the world. Some of them had not even been able to understand his fluent Chinese, English, German, or French, and he had to resort to pantomiming.

His eyes adjusted to the change in light. Surrounding him was a very aesthetically pleasing garden coupled with a deer scare. The sound of water gurgled by in a small stream near his feet behind him. He could hear a shamisen being played expertly nearby.

This place was very calming and beautiful in its ephemeral quality, almost too calming, Kyouya realized, when he jerked his gaze away from the well-kept plants. Taking care not to look around the bewitching area, he walked across the grass towards the music.

A youthful, very small woman in a gorgeous blue and purple kimono was plucking at the instrument, her eyes closed and with a smile on her face.

"Excuse me, milady. We must be on our way." He bowed before her attention was completely on him.

"Who are you?" The woman's voice was very soft, yet warm. "I haven't seen anybody here in a long, long time."

"I am Kyouya Ootori, and I have come to release you from an enchanted book."

"Raise your head, young man. I want to look at you." She set her instrument down gently and stood. Kyouya went straight-backed, and caught himself before he stared too long at her eyes, that were so vibrantly blue they were practically electric.

She smiled and Kyouya could sense a stage-presence behind it. "I appreciate your care, but I cannot leave. A demon abducted me. He used to come visit to hear me play, but..."

A very loud knock resounded through the air, which cooled almost imperceptibly.

"The guard dog." She stated simply. "He won't come in here unless I call him."

The teen frowned. "If I may ask, what is your name?"

"Hotaru." The knocking grew louder. "Judging by your clothes and your comfort in them, I assume that much time has passed outside..."

Kyouya nodded, growing impatient with her. "Seeing your hairstyle and noting your manner of speech, it could be well over a hundred years. What of it?"

"That wretched Sesumu, to think that I fell in love with him." She bent her head towards her hands, tears wetting her palms, ignoring the increasingly loud pounding in the background. "My baby... My sweet baby was stolen from me and probably eaten by that wretched demon."

There was a flash of light and a strange white bird appeared in a tree, cocking its head at Kyouya before flying onto his shoulder. Kyouya looked at it curiously as it bent forward and opened its beak. "Whatever you are doing in there, you should hurry up. The diary is unstable, and any moment it will collapse," Kazutaka's voice sniped in irritation. Message sent, the bird curled up into a wisp of paper which burned off without a trace.

"Milady, whatever demon had you before is no longer in charge of the diary. This place will disappear, and you will be destroyed along with it."

She gazed down at the shamisen in her hands, and then she set it down, standing gracefully. Adjusting her robes with an easy grace, she elegantly plucked up an umbrella and slipped on the tall geta sitting on the large stepping stone beside the raised porch. It was like art in motion.

Kyouya looked away, realizing she was one of the old Geisha. He'd heard of their talents in mesmerizing men by simply turning a sleeve, but... He offered a hand. He'd met geisha before but his eyes hadn't been pulled so easily.

"Why so shy, young man? Afraid I am a snake charmer?" Her laugh was soft and pleasing as he helped her step down, though it was all formality since her footing was very sure. The banging outside grew more hurried and louder.

He shifted his arm, so she could lay hers daintily on his, and walked "I didn't wish to offend by staring too long. You are very beautiful," he responded truthfully, when the noise stopped.

"And silver-tongued, I see. You look barely sixteen, but are well-practiced in the art of dialogue. You must be some politician's son." Even with the shoes that added height to her, she barely came up to his shoulder, even full-grown.

"I was the third son to the owner of a zaibatsu that deals in medical services..." She quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement. "Is something funny, milady?"

"You certainly don't act like any third son I know." The strands of long, shiny dark brown hair was swept up by a casual breeze. She didn't show a hint of hurry despite the howling that had started and the sudden hostile feeling around them. "But you say it in past tense, as if..." She trailed off.

Kyouya's shadows were insistently pointing, and the dark gateway was open, awaiting their exit. "That is because, milady, I am a death god come to collect your wayward spirit."

Without faltering in her steps, she walked into the shadow with him.

* * *

Tamaki came to on the ground, feeling as if he had sipped too much wine at a wine-tasting emporium. Sitting up, his head felt heavy as if anchors were attached to both ears threatening to pull him to the floor again.

The chatter of many women perked him up. _Oh! I've passed out at a party. How embarrassing! _He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet as if unused to using them and heard a glorious sound. There was a lady speaking fluent French to another. Cocking his ears, he also heard German and English and Spanish and Italian and Russian and many other languages he had fallen out of practice with.

Tamaki was ecstatic, thinking he had woken up at a commoner's World Language convention! Then, he looked around realizing he was still in his own house and that, despite hearing all the voices, he could see nothing.

"Tamaki-senior!"

He whipped his head down and stared at the glossy hardwood floor that met his gaze. The voice was very, very familiar...

"Tamaki-senior, can't you see me?"

"No, little girl. I cannot. What's going on? Is this a...!" Bringing a hand to his mouth he backpedaled until he hit the windowsill, "G-G-Ghost dinner party!"

"No, that boy said my body's somewhere else, so I can't be a ghost!" She giggled. "Tamaki-senior, I'm Hina!"

"Hina-chan? Are you alright?

"I'm okay!"

Yellow flashing light brought his attention to the dinner table, situated to his left. The low-level crackling sound wasn't food grilling as he assumed, but in fact some weird, occult thing happening to that 'fantasy' diary he had taken from his father's study! "You! Stop tarnishing the diary's innocent purpose!"

The short boy in white, his head blanketed in fine, platinum blond hair, turned to look at him with silver eyes and a sneer. "Shut up, you idiot. IT would have destroyed a part of your mansion if I hadn't stabilized it."

"Kyle?," Tamaki gasped in surprise as he brought a hand up to his chest. Feeling the blood drain from his face, Tamaki stammered, "Is it c-c-cursed?" Then he moaned out, "Oh, I'm not ready to go down the river Nyx to the caves of Hades! Oh cruel, cruel fate! After stealing Kyouya away, you try to steal my soul as well! Nay, get back death! Away with you! I cast you from my house to ne'er return!"

Other than the clapping from the little girl, he heard that the conversation had stopped. He looked around in confusion. There was a low murmur of appreciation that swept through the crowd of ghosts. Perhaps a very beautiful guest had arrived?

Kyle's hands moved quickly in a strange pattern as if he truly held back the lightning leaping from the book at him, and then a giant claw burst out of the book crushing it. Tamaki shrieked in surprise as that animalistic hand pulled the rest of an arm out of the diary, the claws digging into the a hundred-year-old oak table.

Suddenly, a thick black substance inked up from the underside of the table and pooled around the diary, grabbing hold of the tautly muscled front leg. Watching in morbid curiosity and puzzlement, Tamaki stared as the new transfer student rattled off a string of Buddhist mantras, and the straining limb caught on fire. An otherworldly scream sounded, and only a pile of greasy-looking black ash was left of that... arm-thing.

Raising himself up, Tamaki frowned at Kyle. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

The grim smile of amusement stayed on Kyle's face as he answered. "No, I most certainly do not." Tamaki looked at the silver eyes with a frown. "In fact, do us all a favor and forget this ever happened. Go talk to your maid and help choose a dinner menu."

Blankly, Tamaki nodded. "That sounds like a fantastic idea! I'll go see Shima right away." He left the room, shutting the door, and his muffled exclamation about a wonderful idea came through it.

"Such an interesting ability you have." Kyouya had his arms crossed looking down at his partner. The spirit of the Geisha Hotaru was five steps behind him.

"It's merely a Bewitchment Charm. I'm rather good at them, though they aren't always effective..." Muraki picked up the battered, now-sealed diary, and turned to the group of spirits. "Ladies, I welcome you to Japan. If everyone will hold hands, we will transfer you to Meifu and help you to the transfer stations to your home-netherworlds," Kazutaka said in flawless English. The ones who understood smiled to the people around them and graciously offered a hand. Soon, all of them followed suit linking up hands.

Hina snagged Kyouya's hand looking up curiously. "Senior?"

Then they disappeared, book along with it.

TBC.


End file.
